


He is Gone

by AlexSimon



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell & Related Fandoms, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: M/M, Parallel Universes, author is a bit evil
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-05-12
Packaged: 2018-09-21 23:57:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 37,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9572627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexSimon/pseuds/AlexSimon
Summary: Well guys, I guess I needed to do another JohnSquared AU.You're all shocked, I know.Young doctor John Segundus, in the process of moving on from a break up, develops feelings for a coworker.





	1. Chapter 1

“Doctor?”

He opens his eyes, unaware until that moment that he had been asleep standing up. He nearly falls over with the shock of it, of opening his eyes to the harsh light, to the disorientation of being upright. He catches himself just in time, but not before a large, rough hand twitches briefly in his direction, like the nurse who woke him is ready to stop him falling to the floor. The nurse in front of Segundus looks like he could use some sleep as well, but he wears it better than Segundus. 

“So sorry,” says Segundus. 

“Happens to us all,” says the nurse. He hands a chart to Segundus and waits for him to start to read it, which he does. 

The nurse is tall, long black hair pulled back, the sort of person Segundus thinks probably rode to work on a motorcycle. Segundus rides the bus. In the morning, he's normally on the first ones running, falling asleep against the windows. 

“I, uhhhh…”

Segundus looks up. Telling this nurse that he doesn't know his name should not be this hard, but he is intensely embarrassed. 

“I've seen you on my rounds but I don't think we've worked together until tonight.”

“John,” says the nurse. “And you're Dr Segundus.”

“Yes.”

He is even more embarrassed that the nurse knows who he is. 

“My friend Hannah says you're nice.” 

“Oh, yes, Hannah,” says Segundus. “Of course.”

He worked with Hannah his first few nights. She also woke him once when he fell asleep on a break, never saying anything about the 80s pop music that blared from his phone when he pulled the earbuds from his phone as he woke. 

John begins to walk and Segundus follows him toward the room of the patient they're going to see. 

She's a young woman, thin. She too looks like she could use a good night's sleep. A man sits in the chair beside her bed, holding her hand. 

“Hi Emma,” says Segundus. “Nice to meet you. Why don't you tell me what's going on?”

 

His lunch, if it can be called that at 1:00  
AM, is a sandwich from home, cheese on white bread. He also has an apple and for some reason, a plastic bag of dry granola. He was tired when he packed this afternoon is all he can think to explain it. He carries his lunch in a beat up black lunch box that he feels should have his name written on it, a note inside from his mother. Since August moved out though, there's no one to leave notes. Not that he did when he was there anyway. That was always more Segundus’ thing.

He likes to go where he can be around people. It keeps him from sleeping. There are at least a few people in the cafeteria even considering the time. He passes two women at a table holding hands, one of them crying. 

Segundus buys a coffee and finds a seat. 

“Hey.” 

He looks to to see the nurse, John, from the other night standing in front of his table. 

“Hi,” says Segundus. He notices that John’s facial hair has gotten thicker. He motions to the seat across from him, sees John eye the little bag of granola. 

John sits down in front of him, a lunch box of his own in his hand. He takes out a plastic container with meatloaf, another with potatoes. A cook, thinks Segundus. 

“How are you liking things?” John asks. 

Segundus picks at the crust of his sandwich. 

“Oh, very well.”

John carries real cutlery with him, a fork and a knife. There's a piece of cake in the bag too, Segundus sees. A huge piece thick with chocolate frosting. He stares at it so long that John notices.

“Want some?”

John unwraps the cake from its plastic wrap, licks frosting off his fingers. He uses the knife to cut it in half and places a portion on the plastic wrap that once covered Segundus’ sandwich.

“I couldn't.”

“Of course you could. You've brought hardly anything.”

The cake does look good, and he's still, if he can admit it, hungry. 

“Well.”

John the nurse continues to eat.

“I made it myself.”

Segundus, who has no fork, picks up the cake with his hand and takes a bite. He feels so comfortable in the moment that he could easily sleep right here.

“It's very nice.”

“Hannah's birthday.”

“Oh, how nice of you.”

Stop saying nice, thinks Segundus. 

“She's a mate, Hannah. And I like making cakes.” 

It's March. Still months away from his own birthday in the summer. The wedding was for May. 

As if drawn to it by Segundus thinking of the wedding, it is then that John notices the engagement ring he still wears. He doesn't have to say anything at all, but he does. 

“It's, uhhhh…a long story.”

“Really? Looks like you're engaged. That's not normally a long story.”

Segundus crushes a few stray crumbs under his under his index finger. 

“We were engaged, but he, Auggie, he moved out last week. I can't bring myself…not yet.”

In answer, John, after a long pause, pushes the rest of the cake toward Segundus. 

“I'm…”

Segundus tries to stop himself from saying more, but John has given him his full attention and he needs that right now. 

“I'm not sleeping well without him. At the moment.”

John nods. 

“Tough luck. Break ups are the worst.”

“It is. They are.”

“When the nurses get dumped, we go for breakfast after our shift.”

“It's a nice idea.”

Segundus winces at having said nice again, but John grins.

“We can take you today, if you want. They'd be happy to. They all like you.”

Unexpectedly, it's all Segundus wants in the moment. He picks up the cake and begins to eat again. 

 

Segundus is nervous in the elevator for a reason he can’t name. 

Is he afraid of John and his friends not being there? Is he afraid of having a bad time, or a good one? 

It's the apartment he's afraid of. The food in the fridge Auggie didn't take with him, the stack of letters he needs to address to tell people the wedding is off. 

In the lobby of the hospital, John is there, as is Hannah and another nurse. 

“Oh you poor dear,” says Hannah. “John told us everything.”

The other nurse, Angie, Segundus thinks she is, tuts and pats him on the arm. John hasn't said anything yet, but is focused on something on his phone. 

“And you had to work with Norrell today,” Hannah whispers. 

“He’s not so bad,” says Segundus. “Not most of the time.”

He finds himself looking over his shoulder at John, who is still texting on his phone. Suddenly, John locks his screen and puts his phone away, looking up. 

“Good night?” he asks. 

“Fine,” says Segundus. 

“Yeah, me too.”

It’s raining that morning and they rush around the corner to a small cafe where the waitress at the counter is the only other person to be seen. They take a seat around the table. Segundus slides in next to John.

“A few more of the ladies will be joining us,” says Hannah. “Just wrapping up.”

The other three each order full breakfasts and Segundus, after a pause, does the same. It's been a week since the break up and he's eaten meat three times. He's not sure he's done with being a vegetarian but he's not sure he's not either. 

He's quiet while they wait for the food to arrive, listening to the others. They're easy with each other, joking asking questions. 

“Hey John,” Hannah says. 

He looks up. John the nurse turns his head as well. 

“Oh sorry, forgot! I can ask you too, Doc.”

Doc. He likes it. 

“What are your plans for Friday?”

Friday is his day off. He planned to sleep and get to the letters, maybe have lunch with his father. 

“Oh, not sure yet,” he says. 

“It's my party. You can come. You should come!”

“Yeah!” says Angie. 

“It would be good for you,” says John. “If I can say so.

The waitress arrives and sets the plates down. 

“Oh, maybe.”

He picks up a piece of bacon, muttering sorry to himself. He wonders if anyone else notices.

“It's on the other side of the city,” says Hannah. 

“That shouldn't be a problem.”

John asks his Tube stop and when he tells him, John offers to meet him there at 7:00 and show him the way. 

 

He sleeps late Friday, not waking until close to noon. The rain that has covered the week has lifted, leaving only thin gray clouds. Segundus rushes to shower and dress to meet his father for lunch. 

There's a nice surprise in that his parents have taken care of letting a lot of people know about the wedding already. 

“I'll stop by and get the letters,” says Mr Segundus. “You concentrate on work.” 

He tells his dad about breakfast and the party invitation. 

“That is just what I want to hear,” says Mr Segundus.

There's a long stretch of quiet. Segundus fidgets with his tea, aware that his father is leading up to saying something.

“August called,” says Mr Segundus. “He said he was sorry.”

“What for? He didn't do anything wrong.”

“He feels bad for hurting you.”

“He didn't do anything,” Segundus repeats. 

Segundus knows it’s true. He didn't do anything either, he feels, but work when he had to work, and leave Auggie at home night after night. 

There's grocery shopping after lunch, laundry. Those feel easier knowing he won't have to face the letters. 

At 5:00, Segundus changes. It's still cool enough for his favorite gray sweater. His hair, he's happy to see, dried nicely. He must have slept well last night too, because the circles under his eyes are gone. 

At quarter to 7:00, he's outside at the Tube stop. 

John walks up right on time. He's in a soft hooded sweatshirt, blue. 

“Hey John,” says John. 

It's the first time he's said his name. 

“Hey John,” says Segundus back. He grins, a bit nervous. He hasn't done much going out without August since they got together and being out on his own with a new friend has made him feel just how unsure he is about everything. But he can feel spring, feel a good change taking place.

Together, they enter the station. They talk while they wait for the train, sitting side by side on a bench. Segundus tries to ask questions to keep them being asked of him. Things are slowly feeling better, but a dull afternoon and lunch with his father aren't things he really wants to talk about.

“So, you've worked with Hannah for a while?”

“Yeah.” John puts his hands in the front pocket of his sweatshirt, leans back. “We go back ages.”

Segunus watches his how eyes travel up to the ceiling, then back to his face. 

“You're...you're very good at your job. I'd noticed. I mean, you all are, but-”

“Thanks,” says John. “You are too.”

Segundus looks down at his feet, smudges a bit of old gum with the toe of his shoe. 

“Well. I give it my best. I don't feel confident yet though.”

“Give it time. Not all you doctors can be Jonathan Strange.”

John laughs then a little, mostly to himself. 

“He's an amazing doctor,” says Segundus. 

“Of course he is.”

There's a hint of laughter still in his voice. Segundus doesn't press it. 

“So, um-”

The train rounds the corner. His question is swallowed by the noise. Segundus follows John onto the train and takes a seat next to him. They're squeezed close, shoulders touching. It’s overwarm, but he doesn’t mind the lack of space. Space is something he’s had a lot of lately. 

“What happened with your fiancé?” asks John. 

The car is crowded. The wall of people make it nearly like being alone. He's talked about the break up very little, but evading questions is its own kind of exhausting. 

“My schedule mostly. I was never home, stressed and tired when I was.”

“That gets better, you know.”

“I don't blame him, really. And it ended well enough. He won't run the other way if he sees me in the shops.”

“That's something, I guess.”

They sit in quiet for a while more. A chunk of the crowd moves from the car and warm air blows inside. 

“Do you like dogs?” John suddenly asks. 

“I do.”

“I've always wanted one. Maybe you should get a pet.”

“A cat maybe. We had one growing up.”

John nods. 

“A cat.” 

They talk work the rest of the way, and when they arrive at their stop, Segundus follows John to Hannah's. The gray clouds part. The moon shines down weakly through the city light. John lights a man cigarette as they walk. 

 

Her flat is small, already crowded when they arrive. People sit on every available surface, cluster in groups. A small window above the couch is open, letting in a breeze that smells of rain.

Hannah rushes through the crowd to greet John when they arrive. She's small and when she hugs John, she hardly comes to his chest. Segundus finds himself watching how her long hair falls over John’s hands. 

“So glad you could come,” Hannah says to Segundus when she and John let go of each other. 

“Thanks for having me.”

“Will you have something to drink?”

Segundus accepts a beer and soon finds himself alone and integrated into the crowd. 

He talks for a long time to some of the nurses. Beers appear in his hand whenever he's emptied what he was already drinking. He's glad of the distraction, of the warm feeling of lightness that comes over him as he gets drunk. Someone tells him he smells nice and he laughs.

Segundus watches John from time to time, taking and laughing across the room. He continues to drink.

It gets late. Segundus is queasy, but the feeling hardly registers. The night has passed easily and quickly. He is warm and happy. 

When Segundus stands, he realizes how drunk he is. It isn't a bad feeling at all he finds. He laughs a little at his unsteadiness. He pushes through the crowd until he is in the kitchen, which is shockingly empty. He stumbles to the sink and pours a glass of water. He sees his dull reflection in the stainless steel, blinking and flushed.

He's only alone for the time it takes him to drink the water. John walks into the kitchen. 

“Having a good time?”

Segundus nods, smiling. John begins to walk toward him. John’s hair is down now. Everything about John flows, the sweep of his hair, his long limbs. Under his facial hair, his cheeks are pink. 

John continues to walk toward him. The warmth inside Segundus becomes a tingle. 

“Is Hannah your girlfriend?” Segundus asks.

“No.”

“Do, uh, do you like men?” 

“Yes.” 

John is in front of him now, looking down at him. 

He loves looking up at him, he realizes. And he has to touch his hair.

Segundus reaches up and puts a hand in John’s hair. John does not stop him and Segundus pulls him down into a kiss. It doesn't stop either. He runs his hands up John’s back under his shirt and John presses into him. 

“God,” says John when the kiss ends. 

Segundus runs his hand across John’s backside. It already seems like ages since his body has wanted another and John feels perfect to him. 

“Want to leave?” Segundus asks. 

John breathes heavily against him.

He reaches up and presses his lips against John's again. John shifts, pressing one of his knees between Segundus’ legs. Segundus holds him tighter. His cheeks already burn a little from John’s beard rubbing against him and he loves it. He wants to hear John say ‘God’ again in that breathless way. John does not move when he speaks and his words tickle Segundus. 

“That's…”

Another short kiss. Segundus only realizes when John lets go that he had been holding tightly to one of his wrists.

“That's not a good idea. We work together. You still wear an engagement ring. And you're drunk.”

John steps back.

“Sorry,” stammers Segundus.

“It's okay.”

And then John is gone. Segundus leans over the sink for a moment, thinking he might be sick, then he makes his way to the door and back to the Tube.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are a bit awkward after the kiss at the party.  
> Segundus is the recipient of two unexpected pieces of correspondence, one of them an invitation.

Segundus makes it home with ease, sobering up as he walks from Hannah's house to the Tube and then later from the Tube to his own home.

The air has gotten very cool and he starts shaking. He sits briefly on someone’s front steps, his head between his legs. 

That would be a bad idea.

He's sick not long after making it through the door to his flat and drinks two large glasses of water before lying down on the couch. The bed feels wrong. It has felt wrong. He can't face it tonight. 

He considers a text to August, who he misses desperately in the moment he's lying there, alone and tired and feeling terrible. He doesn't send one after all, but lies crying until he falls asleep. 

Saturday is another day off. 

Segundus doesn't sleep long but wakes around 8:00, makes coffee and is sick again. Somehow he feels stronger anyway for getting up and moving. A shower steadies him further. 

He replays in his mind the kiss, the feeling of John’s hair in his hands and John’s knee between his legs. He hears his own voice ask John to leave the party with him and is mortified all over again. 

The rain has held off and going outside is easy after all. 

He tries more coffee in a cafe, which he keeps down. He reads magazines in a bookshop, glad to be around people, glad of the distraction. His appetite returns and he buys a scone to eat. After it hits his stomach, Segundus discovers that he is ravenous and leaves the bookshop to find a place to have a hamburger. 

Around noon, sitting alone in a fast food place and polishing off the order of chips that he got with his sandwich, Segundus finds himself on his phone looking for the address of an animal rescue center. By 2:00, Segundus is on the bus home, a cardboard carrier with a meowing cat inside sitting on his lap. A little girl drops her mother’s hand to walk down the aisle to Segundus and peer into the carrier. 

“Oh she's so cute,” the girl says, poking her finger in one of the holes at the top of the box. She giggles when the cat nudges her finger. 

Soon after, he is home with the three year old cat he's decided to call Beatrice. 

Going back out for all the things a cat will need takes up the afternoon. He splurges on a cab to get home the large bag of food and litter tray and scratching post he's bought. In the evening he cooks the most intricate curry he think of just to kill time. He goes back out again for groceries and spends an hour cooking. 

Beatrice follows him around and when he watches television that night, she lies on his stomach. 

Segundus’ plan to exhaust himself works well. The next morning he wakes on the couch, the television still on, unable to remember when he fell asleep.

 

Segundus’ first stop when he gets to work is the room of Emma Pole. She's ready for bed, or dressed for bed anyway, staring at the television. He knocks on the door frame and then enters.

“How are you today Emma?” 

“Fine.”

“Your blood work came back. Totally normal.”

“I know.”

“Dr Greysteel is going to come by later. Do you remember him, the-”

“Psychologist.”

Segundus sits on the side of her bed. 

“We’ll figure this out.”

Emma Pole turns to him. The circles under her eyes are so dark it scares him a little but he concentrates on keeping his composure.

“Thanks. I'm really glad you're my doctor. Oh. Your friend was in earlier to take my blood pressure.”

“Which?”

“Northern. Doesn't shave.”

“Ah.”

Segundus blushes. 

“John. The nurse. Yes.”

Emma watches him for a moment and then turns back to the television. 

“Goodnight Dr Segundus.” 

He stands and gives a last look to the chart. Emma was brought in last week in an ambulance. Gilbert Norrell was her attending physician. 

“Good night. I'll be back in the morning before my shift ends. Would you like me to send someone by with some medicine to help you sleep?”

“No.” 

He exits the room to the sound of laughter on the television. 

 

Segundus smells John’s cigarettes, looks up to see him leaned against the coffee machine.He’s wearing soft blue scrubs tonight. Segundus had not heard John approach at all and he jumps a little at the sudden sight of him. 

“I think we should talk, Dr Segundus.”

“John,” he whispers into his coffee, hoping John understands that he wants him to use his first name. 

“Can we step outside?”

Segundus nods and follows John wordlessly out of the hospital. They stand in quiet in the shadows outside the doors. It is the time of night where things are slow and they are alone but for an idling ambulance.

“John, I'm so sorry,” says Segundus. 

“Me too.” He pauses. “John.”

“That was so awful of me.”

“No. I kissed you back. You had every reason to think I wanted to leave the party with you.”

John steps closer to him. Segundus can smell the cigarettes again. He speaks looking away from Segundus. 

“And I did want to. It was just, as I said, an extraordinarily bad idea.”

“You…you wanted-”

“Yes.”

John steps back now, but his eyes don't leave Segundus.

“Are we okay, John?”

“We are,” says Segundus. He notices, his words breathless with relief, that it's gotten cold enough for them to show in the air as they escape the warmth of his chest. He watches John move back toward the hospital door, finally turn away. “I got a cat. A girl cat. Beatrice.”

“Good.” John pauses again, turns back to him for a moment. “Did you text him? Friday night?”

“No.”

John nods. Segundus can't read his expression, the curious way John watches him.

“See you soon,” John says. 

And Segundus is alone in the night.

 

When he gets home, there is a package sitting in front of the door. Not so much a package really, as an envelope with a Mars bar, his favorite sweet, taped to it. His name is written on the front. 

Segundus picks it up. Inside is a letter from August. 

He reads it sitting on the couch, the cat perched on his knee. 

For a second, as he takes the letter from the envelope and unfolds it, he has fleeting thoughts of August wanting to get back together, of him coming back to the apartment, of a night of reunion in their bed. But he knows really that it isn’t going to happen. People do not write letters to get back together. He isn't even sure it's something he wants anymore.

August only wishes him well and says again how sorry he is that things worked out the way they did. He ends by telling Segundus that he misses him and he still thinks sometimes of the future where they would forever be linked by wedding bands and hyphenated last names. 

It’s a dumb letter Segundus thinks, crying. How is he sorry for what happened when he is the one that left? If he misses me so much, Segundus thinks, why did he write a letter and sneak by when I wasn’t home? The cat rubs against his hand and Segundus pets her behind the ears, very glad that she’s there. She responds with a meow he thinks of as sympathetic though he knows otherwise. He is aware that he makes a ridiculous picture. 

Segundus picks up his phone and calls his father. 

“Dad? Breakfast?” 

“John, are you crying?” Mr Segundus asks. Segundus thinks he’s woken him. 

“Will you meet me for breakfast?” 

“Of course. Just give me an hour, okay.”

Segundus uses that time to shower and change clothes. The letter sits on the couch where he left it, the Mars bar next to it. Beatrice bats at both with disinterest and gives up to go to sleep. 

Over breakfast, Segundus tells his dad everything; getting drunk, kissing John, the conversation at work, the letter from August. 

“And they told me a boy would be easier,” Mr Segundus says. As does everything his father says to him, he says it with love. 

“What should I do, Dad?” 

“Nothing to do. John isn’t an option and neither is August. Just feel what you need to feel and try to move on.”

“John likes me, I think,” Segundus whispers, poking at his food and not looking up. He feels that he is pouting. Mr Segundus sighs softly. 

“And I’m happy for you that he does. But he said no, John, and he has his reasons for it. These things happens.”

Segundus leaves breakfast exhausted. He falls asleep briefly on the way home and wakes with a start, nearly falling from his seat. When he arrives back to his flat, Segundus puts on his favorite movie. He is asleep again in minutes, the cat purring in his ear. 

On a whim, he posts online his and August’s bed as for sale before he leaves for work in the afternoon. It takes only minutes and he stares at the screen after, shocked at the words. How impersonal it sounds now, this description of a bed he picked out with the man he wanted to marry. 

There isn’t much time to think about it though and certainly not to cry again, so he doesn’t.

 

Segundus gets another party invitation that night, just as unexpected as the first. 

“Bell insisted on proper invitations,” says Jonathan Strange. He hands over a pearl colored envelope. His name, just like with the letter from August, is written on the front, this one not on Jonathan Strange’s familiar messy handwriting, but a much neater one, beautiful even. Segundus guesses it’s his wife who wrote it. Strange never stops grinning in that way he has, like someone who is forever pleased with everything around him.

“What’s the occasion?” asks Segundus. 

“A little party for our first wedding anniversary.” 

Segundus does not say that the party doesn’t look small at all. He ordered wedding invitations this nice not a month ago and he knows just how much this sort of thing costs. 

Segundus pulls the heavy card from its envelope and he sees that the invitation is for him and a guest. 

“Norrell already declined,” Strange says. 

“Oh.” 

“So it wouldn’t be awkward if,say, someone he worked closely with, someone he's a bit possessive of, came with you.” 

Segundus blushes. 

“Just a guess,” says Strange, pushing his hair back from his forehead, “that Childermass might be who you would want to take.”

“Thank you,” says Segundus. “I’ll plan on coming.” 

“Bring a date.” 

He mumbles that he’ll think about it and offers up another thanks. Strange turns to leave but thinks better of it. 

“John, do you have a photo of your ex on your phone?”

“I do.”

“Can I see?”

Confused, Segundus picks up his phone and shows Strange a picture of him and August at Christmas, arms around each other in front of the tree.

“Huh,” says Strange. He hands the phone back.

“What?”

“Can't be said that you really have a type, can it?”

Segundus shrugs.

“Not really, I guess.”

“Funny. John Childermass definitely has a bit of a type though and if you want to know, you happen to be it.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well guys, I don't know what happened here.  
> A chapter that diverges significantly from the previous, but I hope is enjoyable nonetheless.

The night is so busy that Segundus frequently forgets the envelope with the invitation to Jonathan Strange’s anniversary party, frequently forgets Strange telling him that he is just John’s type. The night passes; a blur of bright lights, paperwork, and beeping machines. 

As he gets off work, Segundus sees that there is a text from his mother and he spends the whole commute home whispering into his phone, assuring her that he is fine and has not, as of yet, royally messed up his romantic life. 

“Who is this new guy? Your father says you’ve been out kissing men at parties while inebriated. Good for you.” 

It’s the first time he’s had a moment to think about John in hours. The embarrassment of the situation is quick to wash back over him and he finds himself looking around the bus like it’s possible someone is listening to their conversation. 

“Someone at work. It’s...nothing, really.” 

“Oh John, that sounds messy. Do be careful. Is he cute? If it's messy he should be very cute.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve been firmly rebuffed.”

“You’ll be okay, love. But do keep having fun, will you?”

He gets the envelope with the party invitation out from his bag. The party is in two weeks; not a lot time to find someone to go to something this fancy. He can think of so few times that he hasn’t listened to his parents. And maybe they’re right. John has already said he thinks that the two of them together are, in own words, an extraordinarily bad idea. Maybe asking John would be a disaster. He puts the envelope back in his bag, plugs in his earbuds, and closes his eyes.

The March morning is unseasonably warm and Segundus sheds his coat walking up the stairs to his flat. He steps back upon finding the door to his apartment unlocked when he reaches for it. 

“When the hell did you get a cat, you sad old man?” calls a female voice from inside. 

Segundus smiles, throwing open the door. 

Beatrice sits on the lap of small redhaired woman a few years younger than Segundus. The woman leafs through a magazine and drinks tea from one of his mugs. 

“Jane!”

“Used the emergency key. Your dad told mine you were a wreck, so here I am to ward off the emergency. You should just be glad I’m the only Honeyfoot to show up.” 

Segundus embraces his friend Jane Honeyfoot despite the cat in her lap and the cup of tea in her hand. 

“How are things?” he asks. Beatrice crawls from Jane’s lap to his. 

“I am awash in neices and nephews, as always. Another on the way. We are all shocked.” 

“I heard.” 

Jane holds up the letter from August, which Segundus had meant to throw away but instead left on the coffee table. She lifts an eyebrow at it.

“What is this?

“Auggie being confusing.” 

“Auggie being a loser, more like it. He either needs to pine in private or come back. This sort of thing is not okay. He does not know the wrath of your surrogate sisters. Why, who knows what would happen if I showed this to Charlotte. She's prone to disliking your boyfriends even when she's not pregnant and hormonal.”

John Segundus has not felt so good in days. 

Jane makes him shower and change and drink several cups of coffee before taking him out. Before long they are settled in a park with an early picnic lunch. Segundus feels his cheeks and the back of his neck get warm. He confesses, like he only can with Jane, that he almost took someone home with him Saturday night. 

“Ah, bless you for trying.” She pats his hand. “Well done.”

“So you don't think I was dumb?”

“I think it was a fabulous idea and that you're very clever for thinking of it.”

Jane propels him through the afternoon at such a pace that nothing at all registers but the warmth and sunshine of the day. Segundus picks out an outfit for the Strange’s party, a suit in a deep green that Jane picks out a flashy striped tie to go with it. 

He’s not able to get much sleep before his next shift, but Jane stays and when he wakes up, she’s made him lunch to take to work, a proper lunch with a huge sandwich and container of pasta salad that he definitely did not have in his refrigerator last night.

“Mum sent the salad,” Jane tells him. “You know I do not cook, not even for you.” 

“I know, Jane.”

“She says eat, you're skinny.”

“Your mum hasn't seen me in a month!”

Jane hands him the lunch box and stands on her toes to kiss him on the forehead. 

“Should I stay?” she asks. “Do you need someone here when you get home?”

“No. No, I'll be fine.”

“Good. Have a nice night at work. Don't kiss any beardy nurses, okay?”

Segundus arrives at his bus stop smiling, looking very much forward to the evening.

 

She is not well tonight. 

Emma is never well these days, but tonight is especially bad. There is a wildness in her eyes and worst, she seems scared of him, jerking away when he tries to touch her. He knows that sedation will be necessary if she does not calm soon, and he doesn’t want that for her. Segundus refuses to admit that he is on the verge of crying, but he is. Now, Emma asks for her husband and rather loudly.

“I'm going to run some tests, Emma,” Segundus tells her. “You'll be out of the room most of the night, I think. And Dr Greysteel is going to come by as well.”

“Please, Dr Segundus,” she says.

A hand on his shoulder. 

Segundus knows who it is and what it means, though his back has been to the door and he did not hear him come in. John’s hand stays on his shoulder and the longer it is on him, the stranger he feels. It is warmth but more than that; a fluttering in a place in his chest he'd once thought empty. As he concentrates on it, he thinks he hears John gasp. Emma frowns at the two of them, then her mouth drops open.

“John,” Segundus says. “Can you make sure Walter is called as soon as possible, please?”

“Of course, doctor.”

Emma Pole cries in relief.

John leaves the room and as he does, Segundus feels his breath pulled out of him, like it’s a string John holds the other end of. He thinks maybe he hears someone scream, very far away, but then it is gone, like the sound has been snapped in half. His breath flies back into him just as quickly. 

 

Segundus runs into John as he leaves the hospital in the morning. John is leaned against a tree across from the doors, smoking. 

“I was hoping to see you,” John says.

“You were?” 

“Yes.” John tucks his hair behind his ear with his free hand. “I wanted to-”

Segundus is exhausted. He is exhausted and a bit light headed from lack of sleep, but the good mood he left home with lingers despite the oddness of the night. He feels a flicker in the same place in his chest he did earlier when John placed a hand on his shoulder. Looking at John, words find their way to his mouth before he thinks of them. 

“Sorry, John, but would you like to come to Jonathan Strange’s anniversary party with me?” 

“What?”

His face heats pink.

“I'm so sorry. I know I interrupted. But, I think it might be fun. Jonathan thought...he thought we might have a good time, too. It was sort of his idea. And I promise to not get drunk and kiss you. Again.”

John stares at him for a moment and then, just as the tension is too much for Segundus, he laughs. 

“Do you now?”

“I do,” says Segundus earnestly. John takes a last drag of his cigarette before snubbing it out and tossing the butt into a nearby bin.

“And Strange suggested it?”

“He did.”

There is another pause, too long for Segundus’ liking. He can hardly look at John, but is sure John rolls his eyes, though not at him. Segundus’ stomach twists itself into a knot. 

“I'll have to think about it,” says John. “It's a bit more complicated than just if I want to go out with you, which I do.”

“Sure,” says Segundus, relieved at the compassion in John’s voice, relieved at the sound of the last three words in his ears. “Sure, of course. Now, what were you saying?”

John does not say anything, nor do anything for some time until he reaches over to touch Segundus’ hand. Segundus feels for a moment as though he's been burned and jumps back. He swears there was light too, a globe of it between that they somehow created and burst with the touching of their skin. 

“That,” says John Childermass, “is what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“What was that?” Segundus breathes the words rather than properly speak them. He freezes looking down at his hand and the feeling of heat washes over him again, less intense. He can't breathe well, but the shallow pants he manages are not unpleasant. In fact, he feels most delightfully like his body is being stroked with care by a lover who knows him well, knows each of his most tender spots and how to touch them.

He is on the verge of fainting, he's sure, when John takes his face in his hands, kissing him. The sensation nearly makes him crumple to the ground. They're on a busy street in the morning but Segundus knows they are not seen or head as John presses him against a wall, the kiss unbroken until John lifts his lips briefly to whisper,

“Magic.”

 

A moan is forming inside Segundus, traveling up from his stomach when John drops whatever magic he's done and pulls back. Segundus stares pitifully at him.

“I can only do that for so long,” explains John. 

“Oh. Okay,” is all Segundus can think to say as he comes back to what he knows as the real world. The moan turns into a few deep breaths as he blinks his eyes. 

“We should talk.”

Segundus knows that he nods but doesn't feel his head move. Maybe he speaks, but if he does he doesn’t hear his own voice. 

“Is the invitation to your place still open?”

“Yes,” says Segundus. 

That is very clear. 

 

John is in charge, he feels. Segundus is not entirely back to himself as he waits for him outside the hospital, or as they walk to the bus stop. He rubs his hands together like they’re cold, but they’re not. He looks around without focus.

“It's okay,” John whispers to him.

John sits beside him on the bus and they do not speak until he mumbles to John when it's time to get off. Segundus follows him off the bus and they stand together. 

“There,” says Segundus, pointing toward the street where he lives.

“I can see it,” says John. “You've left traces everywhere.”

He doesn’t need to be told anything else to make it to Segundus’ apartment. At the door, Segundus fumbles for his key, drops it, and John picks it up and lets them in. 

The cat meows at the new presence in the apartment for only a second before deciding it isn’t worth her trouble and lying down on the rug. Segundus slumps against the door after he closes it. 

“John?” he asks, looking up at him. 

“Yes?”

“Please. Might I…”

John understands the request and soon Segundus is awash in the feeling of magic again. He closes his his eyes and slowly slides to the floor. He stays like that, drinking in the magic, until John is forced to drop it. A few seconds pass, the two panting in silence. 

“Well, doctor. Shall we get you to bed?”

“Not-” Segundus pauses to catch his breath. “Not the bed.”

He isn't sure he walks to the couch though he knows he must have once he realizes he is lying on his back, John kissing his neck. How else would he have gotten there?

“Do you still want me?” he hears John ask. 

“Yes. God yes.”

John doesn't speak the command to relax though Segundus hears it clearly. Cool air hits his skin as he is undressed, followed by the warmth of lips and scratching of John's facial hair. He opens his eyes once to see that he is completely unclothed, that John is kissing his right thigh. 

He knows what John wants to do without it being said. John’s body and magic are speaking loudly, but Segundus uses his voice, as much he can, to tell him yes, though the yes is more a plea than anything.

John’s mouth on him and he closes his eyes again. He is lost in a feeling like floating, but he knows he isn't because his fingers dig into the couch. He forms a begging chant in his mind for this not to stop and he knows somehow that John hears it. He feels John’s response like the words have traveled right through his skin and burst inside him. 

He screams once and the sound seems to meet resistance like John has caught it in some net and holds it. 

The scream echoes in whatever chamber John has placed around them, but it is John's voice Segundus hears when it comes back. 

Tell me what you want.

Segundus can't help the vision that springs to his mind, of himself buried deep in John. The thought brings a twitch to John’s lips that Segundus feels and in the real world, the one outside the magic, John chuckles. He slides his mouth of Segundus, an action which forces Segundus’ eyes open again. John smirks. 

“Should have known,” he says. 

John resumes his place and sends out the the most powerful wave of magic yet. There is nothing but those two feelings, a brief recognition of his own gasping pleasure, voiced in a string of noises.

Brightness. Reality presses against him. The magic drops with force and Segundus opens his eyes to see John leaned over him, his forehead rested on Segundus’ stomach. He is entirely naked, draped between Segundus’ legs. Segundus only then notices a large, yellowed bruise on John's hip, a tattoo on his shoulder. Without thinking, Segundus reaches to stroke the bruise. 

“I can't anymore,” John says. His voice is helpless, small. 

“Oh, John.”

He lies down next to Segundus and wearily Segundus pats his hair. John feels hot against him, too hot, like a penny in the sun. His heart is an army of drums. 

Segundus thinks of cool water, of John floating in cool, blue water, and John grips at him and calls out a choked noise, a curse, a sound that is unmistakably a climax. John's skin cools instantly.

“Fuck,” mumbles John. He closes his eyes.

“How did I do that?”

“I have no idea.”

They stay like that for some time until they both fall asleep. 

 

The sun is high when Segundus opens his eyes. The afternoon is well underway, nearly evening in fact, and Segundus hears through the wall a soap opera on his neighbor’s television. 

John is awake, still lying next to Segundus, and scratching behind the ears the cat, who is spread on the back of the sofa. His left hand, the free one, rests on Segundus’ stomach. 

“We need to be up soon,” says John. 

“Soon,” mutters Segundus, rubbing his eyes. He is always spent after, and this time is more pronounced. It doesn’t help that there is a warm and prickling feeling at some of the places where his and John’s skin meet that he is loathe to give up, and that the air, despite the window being opened to nothing more than the city street, smells of a flower garden. He looks down again to the bruise on John’s hip, the one the color of a crushed daisy, touches it again. 

“What happened there?”

“It's...a long story. Sort of.”

“I see. Any longer to tell than the fact that you can do magic? That you and I can do magic?”

John yawns then and the cat follows suit, making Segundus grin. He pushes John’s hair aside and strokes the back of his neck. 

“It's all the same story, petal.” 

“Someone taught you how to do that? What you did to me? And you and he…”

“He's sort of an arrogant bastard at times, but yeah, we were a thing, for a bit. I think we liked each other, really.”

“What happened?”

“I got tired of lying, of being on the side. I didn't need to be his everything, but I also didn't need to hear him on the phone tell his wife he was held up at work when he was in my living room. Or sometimes in my bed.”

Segundus is silent. His stroking of John’s neck stops. 

“Yeah,” says John. He opens his eyes and looks up at Segundus. “He's married. I'm not proud of it, but there it is. Promised I'd never do anything like it again though.”

Segundus thinks on his response and his fingers move again against the soft skin of back of John’s neck. 

“We all make mistakes, don’t we? And you didn’t do it alone, now did you?”

They lie together in quiet, the only movement that of Segundus’ fingers. 

“We should get ready for work,” says John. 

“You can shower, if you like.”

John sits up, stretches his long arms above his head. Segundus watches him, counts his ribs. 

“Wonderful,” says John. “I’m a bit of a mess.” 

John stands and walks naked to the bathroom. Segundus follows him and shows him how to use the shower, grabs him a spare towel. He shaves, still undressed himself, while John is in the shower and stays in the bathroom, talking, rambling really, about the weather and breakfast until the water shuts off and John steps out. 

Still wet, he walks the few paces to Segundus and presses him again the sink, like he is desperately thirsty for the little yelp it elicits from Segundus, and indeed as it rises from his lips, John gulps it down, their lips pressed together. Segundus reaches up, wraps his arms around John’s neck and kisses him. John lifts him easily, rests him on the sink and Segundus puts his legs around John’s torso, his heels digging into the small of John’s back. Segundus’ head tilts back, knocks against the steamy mirror, and John kisses his neck and chest. Segundus rocks against John's damp stomach.

“Show me again what it is you wanted to do to me,” John says.

Unbidden, a bubble of magic travels up from Segundus to John, straight to the place where his heart is. 

John drops the kiss, jerking backward. Segundus totters, but John keeps ahold of him and he doesn’t fall. 

“We really should…” 

Segundus nods, lowering himself from the sink, backing from the bathroom to let John dry off. He goes into his bedroom and dresses. 

Not sure what else to do after, he makes tea. 

John emerges from the bathroom and picks his clothes up off the floor, dressing while Segundus fumbles with toast, with plates and cups. He begins to chatter again as he sets up the table. Beatrice acts as a great distraction, rubbing against John’s legs and making a lot of cheerful cat noise. 

They both look up at the sound of knocking at the door. 

“John? Are you still home?”

Segundus goes pale. 

“August.”

 

Segundus drops a butter knife and John raises an eyebrow in annoyance at the continued knocking, the lingering impact of August’s name in the flat. 

“August. What are you doing here?” 

The knocking at the door stops. 

“I got a text from Jane telling me to stop bothering you. Then another from each of her sisters and her father telling me the same.”

“So you decided to run right over?” squeaks Segundus. 

“It sounded like something we should talk about. Can I come in?” 

Segundus doesn’t know why he does it, but he looks frantically at John. 

“He doesn’t live here,” says John. His voice his quiet, but he does not whisper. He does not hide. It settles Segundus, reminds him that he has nothing wrong and that he does not need to hide either. “He doesn’t live here, and of his own volition. You don’t have to let him in.”

“John? Love?” August asks from outside the door. “What was that?”

There is a long stretch of quiet. 

“Do you have someone there?”

“He is not your fiance anymore.” John speaks to Segundus with the same calm voice he did earlier. “He doesn’t get to know anything you don’t want to tell him.”

Segundus walks to the door and cracks it open. He knows it is enough for August to see John standing barechested in the living room, but there is nothing to be done. 

“It’s not a good time, Auggie. And Jane and her family are right, though I am sorry about the texts. I think it’s best…” 

August stares over Segundus’ shoulder at John, then looks at Segundus. 

“It hasn’t even been two weeks,” he says, spitting the words out as tears well up in his eyes. He reaches under his glasses to wipe a tear away as it slides down his cheeks. 

“Please. I’ll send the money for the bed to your mum’s. But I need to go to work.” 

“The bed?” asks August. 

“We need to go to work.” Segundus looks at his feet when he speaks. “Bye, August.”

“We? You work with him? How long has this been going on?” 

Segundus shakes his head to show that he isn’t going to answer any more questions. He slips the engagement ring off his finger and holds it out to August. August barley looks at Segundus, but stares between the ring and John with increasing anger showing on his face. 

“August. Stop,” says Segundus softly. 

It is a few seconds before August finally takes the ring and turns to leave, not before glowering at John for a long moment before he does. 

Segundus shuts the door. He stands motionless until he feels John’s arms wrap around his middle.He turns his head so that it rests on John’s shoulder. Comforting magic hits him, much more gentle than earlier, a different sort with the trailing sound of the softest of singing.

He knows then that he never wants to live without this feeling. 

 

The night goes surprisingly well when all is said and done. 

Segundus throws himself into work to forget the intense strangeness of the last twenty four hours and it works well. From time to time he finds himself wondering where John is, or reaching to twist his engagement ring around his finger as he does when he is nervous, but he moves on quickly. 

For a long time he sits with the chart of Emma Pole and then he sits with her husband to assure him they are doing the best they can for her.

Segundus finishes his shift dazed but relieved at how quickly the night passed, ready to go home. 

“Hello, John. John, hold up.”

Segundus is stepping into the elevator, turns at the sound of Jonathan’s voice. Jonathan runs toward him, his white coat flapping behind. 

“Hello,” says Segundus. He puts his hand out to hold the door for Strange, who slips into the elevator with him. 

“Listen, I wanted to ask you something. That party invitation, the whole Childermass thing-” 

“I asked him, actually. Moment of bravery. He’s not sure, but he’ll think about it. He said he wanted to go out with me though, even if he doesn’t go to the party, so there’s that.”

Strange pauses, a quizzical look directed at Segundus. The world around Segundus wavers, like it is slowly sliding to the ground him, melting. Just as soon as he is aware of it, panicking over it, the world goes right again and Strange is speaking. 

“Oh. Good.” 

There is a searing pain at the front of Segundus’ forehead for a moment when he tries to look at Jonathan Strange, a sudden wave of nausea that leaves him dizzy but passes quickly. Strange shoves his hands in his coat pockets, looks away when he speaks in a way most unlike him.

“Just, you know, take care of him, will you? If anything comes of the two of you. He could use someone kind, I think.”

Segundus blinks away an odd shadow surrounding Strange, something like a shimmering cloud hovering behind him.

In his mind he sees him and John in the bathroom that morning, himself pressed against John’s torso, desperate for friction, desperate for the feeling of moving against John. Strange furrows his brows as Segundus pushes the image away. He stumbles a little where he stands and looks open mouthed around the elevator, every bit as confused as Segundus.

“What the hell?” asks Strange.

As the elevator reaches the bottom floor, Strange’s words and the feelings overtaking him, overtaking them, become incredibly clear. 

“It was you,” Segundus says. And he rushes from the elevator. 

 

The door to the elevator nearly closes before Strange regains his composure and follows Segundus as he heads to the door of the hospital. 

“Wait. John, stop, let me explain.” 

Segundus attempts to keep walking away, but Strange is nearly to him. 

“Jonathan, it’s fine. I really-” 

Strange steps close, taking Segundus’ arm in his hand, looking around to see that they aren’t heard. Segundus feels that Strange tries magic to keep them in quiet, but it feels so much different than John’s magic. It settles on him so poorly that he tries to physically shake it off.

“It’s done between us. It never should have happened I know, but it’s done.” 

“None of my business,” says Segundus, trying again to step away. The cool morning air that hits him when the doors open is a relief and he thinks maybe the only thing keeping him standing. “I’m tired. I’d like to home now.” 

Strange’s shoulders slump and he drops his hand from Segundus.

“I’m really sorry about it. I am. Just please, don’t tell my wife. Not now. She’s pregnant, John, and I want to do this right.”

“Why would I do that? Why would I tell her?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, I won't, okay. I don't want to hurt some innocent woman I've never met. Just please let me go home, Jonathan.”

Segundus takes a step back and is nearly at the door. Strange’s magic falls from him and Segundus feels light. 

“See you tomorrow,” he says to Strange. 

Strange does not respond and Segundus goes gratefully out into the morning. 

 

John Childermass sits in front of his door, smoking a cigarette. He puts it out quickly when he sees Segundus, stands, and Segundus rushes to embrace him. He rests his head against John’s chest and John holds him tightly. 

“Thank God you’re back,” says Segundus. 

John kisses his hair and then the tops of his ears and Segundus is not rushed to be away from this place, from John’s arms. He finds immense comfort in John’s tenderness. Just as he feels, he knows John feels as well. 

“Are you okay?” John asks. “I was so worried about you all day.”

“I'm fine, John.”

They kiss there, in a way that would suggest to no one they only been separated hours. There's no magic yet, just their bodies much relieved to have each other again. 

But eventually they let go of each other and Segundus unlocks the door. 

It is only minutes later they are on the couch together. John is spread underneath him, his mouth open in wordless pleasure, their love making just begun.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Many strange occurrences.  
> Segundus gets deeper into magic and finds out something disturbing about his patient Emma Pole.

“Don’t sleep yet,” says John. 

Segundus lifts his head from John’s stomach, where he was definitely almost asleep. John still smells of the soap from his own shower, though much faded now. 

“Huh?

“You haven’t eaten. Don’t sleep.” 

Segundus mumbles compliance while in fact returning his cheek to the soft skin of his lover’s torso. John doesn’t protest at first, but plays with Segundus’ hair for a moment, humming. The song catches his attention and he finds himself searching for the words to it as John winds his fingers in his hair. They stay out of reach however, like he forgot them long ago. 

“What's that song?” Segundus asks. He only partially opens his eyes. John lies back on the couch, staring at the ceiling. His long hair is damp with sweat. “I think I know it.”

“What song?”

John’s humming starts again and stops as he realizes what he is doing and slowly trails off. 

“Huh. I don't really know. I didn't even know I was doing that.”

“Huh,” repeats Segundus. 

John resumes playing with Segundus’ hair and the flat is quiet for another minute or so.

“Sit up, cariad,” says John. “I’ll go get us something to eat.”

John moves him to a sitting position but Segundus lies back down after John is off the couch and watches him dress. He turns from Segundus to pick up his clothes, stands with them in his hands, stretches putting them on; thighs, back and arms. Segundus watches John’s body at this ordinary work and is happy. I love a tall man, he thinks. John pulls back his hair with a tie from his pocket. 

“What do you want?” 

“Thai,” mumbles Segundus. 

“I’ll sort it.” 

John kisses him softly on the mouth. It is the last thing he remembers until John comes back through the door with plastic bags full of take away containers. The smell is enough to rouse to Segundus, that and John calling his name to wake him. How did he never realize how nice his name sounded in a Yorkshire accent? John brings the food to the couch as Segundus pulls himself up and tries to do something to neaten his hair.

John spreads the containers in front of them and opens them all while Segundus rubs at his eyes. Neither say anything when Segundus does not dress before reaching for a plastic fork and pulling a container of pad thai toward him. 

“So, you spoke to Strange?” asks John. He picks up a spring roll and leans on the couch sideways, his knees drawn to him. 

“How did you know?” 

“You reeked of his magic when you came in. Did he try the silencing thing? He is shit at that.”

Segundus laughs. 

“I didn’t think he was shit, but his magic was so different than yours. Yours felt nice. His felt like I was wearing a moldy raincoat.”

“I think,” says John, “that our magic is compatible. Yours feels different to me as well. What did Strange say?” 

It is not something Segundus wants to talk much about and he shrugs. 

“He asked me not to tell Arabella. Said he was sorry.” 

John reaches over and pats his knee. He moves his foot so that it touches Segundus’, making Segundus smile. They say nothing else about Jonathan Strange while they finish their dinner. 

Segundus showers while John cleans up and puts the leftovers in the refrigerator. When he comes out of the bathroom, John is asleep on the couch with Beatrice lying near his head and Segundus, still naked, curls up next to him. John wraps an arm around him mostly still asleep. 

“Undress, Mr Childermass,” says Segundus, pulling at John’s shirt, which is in the way of where he wants to be, which is against John’s chest, heartbeat in his ear. 

Something about what Segundus said causes them both to pause and look at each other, but neither acknowledge it. Segundus wonders if John got the same lurch in his stomach at the words, but he is almost scared to ask. 

A barely audible chuckle, a bit nervous after navigating the oddness they have just passed through, but John does undress and soon, Segundus is rewarded with the feeling of John against him again. He’s much warmer for it, for the two of them lying together skin to skin. 

Segundus thinks, from his bright dreaming and the crackling, electric feeling in the air when he wakes in the night that their magic was at work while they were asleep. 

“Back to sleep,” says John, who Segundus had not realized was also awake. Segundus is still groggy, but has the impression of John playing with their magics like a pair of kites in a breeze. John kisses him, a gentle and quick kiss, and Segundus is happy to do as he says. 

The next day is a day off. 

After coffee, had before dressing, John has to go and Segundus is much more heartbroken over it than he knows he should be over a few hours of separation. He stalls putting John’s mug away after he cleans it, gets overworked watching him take his clothes from the floor for the third time in forty eight hours. He has always been a bit of a romantic, but has never felt this dizzied by his feelings before, especially in what should be the awkward newness of things. He tries to settle himself, but keeps thinking back to the night before, John as his pillow, John staring up at the invisible mists of their magic. 

Segundus watches John to see what he feels and it appears John is holding back as well, but he is more skilled at covering it. He dresses, has a cigarette before he leaves, sitting outside with the door open. The cat follows him to the front steps, sits on his lap, paws at his shirt until John pets her. He picks the cat up and brings her inside when the cigarette is done. It’s a brief moment that stays with Segundus, as is the moment John gently sets the cat down. After John kisses Segundus in the kitchen, soft and unhurried. 

John promises to return by dinner and Segundus makes do with that. 

Still nervous and unsettled over the departure of John and his magic from the apartment, Segundus cleans and does laundry and cooks dinner, all the time watching the clock. He chides himself for this sort of silliness at his age but he cannot stop thinking of the time when John will come back and him and his magic fill the flat again. 

He takes a long walk, goes into a different sort of bookstore than he is used to. It is a small place with low ceilings and dusty shelves. He picks up a book about architecture for the pictures, because it only costs a pound, and then goes to buy wine. On a whim, he gets cigarettes too, smokes one with tea in the late afternoon as he flips through his new book. He doesn’t care much for the cigarette and decides to give the rest to John.

John returns as he said he would, wearing a backpack that he sets on the floor. As Segundus watches him hang his jacket, he feels that it is somehow winter, deep winter on a snowy day. He is in a room twice the size of his flat, full of old fashioned furniture that looks new, and he stands in front of a fire. John is in this place too, but different; a long black coat, a hat in his hand. This John is rougher. His face is weathered and his hands dirty. So strong is the sensation of the place that Segundus expects to smells smoke from the fireplace on his clothes when the feeling passes. He says nothing though and does not look at John, instead shuffling toward the kitchen. 

“I made shepherd's pie,” Segundus says. “Veg. I hope that’s okay.” 

“Sure.” 

“And I got wine.”

They take their time, eating at the small table in the kitchen. John jokes how nice it is to see him clothed at a meal. They drink a bottle of wine and open another, unphased by the hours that pass at the table. They clear the dishes, leaving them in the sink. They have a kiss after that doesn’t end until John breaks it to take Segundus by the waist and turn him to kiss the back of his neck.

After dinner and cleaning, they go to the living room and John shows him what is in the backpack. 

Besides a change of clothes, there is an old journal and a pack of what Segundus assumes at first are old playing cards but turn out to be homemade tarot. John forgoes them and hands Segundus the tattered book.

“The journal is mine. I’ve written down all that I’ve learned about magic. I thought it might be helpful.”

Segundus rifles through the journal. The first dates are from nearly thirty years ago, when John was a teen. The handwriting is neat, elegant even: a loopy, old fashioned script. Why, thinks Segundus, have I never noticed his handwriting before? He is compelled to touch the words on the page and trace some of the intricate turns. The entries are accompanied at times by sketches that sometimes take up half pages or whole pages and sometimes crawl up the margins. Some of the drawings are of people; young women with long hair, young men drinking beers. One illustration is a starry night seen from a small window. Some are dark and frightening things Segundus cannot exactly name. 

As Segundus wonders what John was like at that age, he sees a scrawny boy, a young man, black haired, sitting on a small bed in what appears to be a run down flat. His hair falls in his face. The tattoo Segundus had previously noticed on John’s shoulder is on the shoulder of this boy, fresh, though he doesn't appear to be more than sixteen or seventeen and could possibly be younger. The young man seems to sit next to John, his John, and the image of that bedroom is somehow imposed over that of Segundus’ flat, like a dreamy film.

The image breaks in his mind and Segundus is back in his own living room. 

“How can we do that?” Segundus asks out loud. His heart pounds. The grown version of the young man from the vision sits in front of him. John is thinner than he was then, his face no longer smooth but covered in graying stubble. 

“I think it has something to do with our particular magic. It never happened with Jonathan.”

“You look just the same,” says Segundus. 

“Do not. I'm old now. Why don't you try? Show me who you were.”

Segundus concentrates, eyes closed, on an image of himself around age twelve, on holiday with his parents in France. He is at a table with them at a cafe and has just burst into tears out of exhaustion and frustration over spilling a cup of coffee onto his shoes. He feels it then; the burning, the wet seeping down into his socks, sun on his face.

When he opens his eyes, John is breathing heavily. He shakes his head showing that he can't speak just yet and Segundus waits anxiously.

“I felt like I was there,” John mutters after a while, still catching his breath. “Why did you pick that day? You looked miserable.”

Segundus draws his knees up to his chest.

“I was. I had been trying for months to think of how to come out to them. I was so stressed, though they'd always told me it was fine one way or the other and I figured they already knew. That night they sat me down and told me it didn't matter to them, but that they wanted me to be happy. I'd never been so relieved.”

“They seem like nice people.” 

“The best.” 

John shows him an image of his mother then; a dark and cramped kitchen, a cup of tea in her hands, her hair pulled back, wearing a pressed but faded waitress’s uniform. 

Segundus reads a few more entries in the journal, flips through to near the end but finds he is scared of this part of the book, nervous of learning too much of John’s time with Strange and the magic he learned with Strange as his lover. 

He gives the book back to John and they finish the second bottle of wine, taking turns showing each other old memories. They kiss and pass the bottle of wine back and forth. Segundus gets brave as the bottle empties, shows John images of himself, Segundus, in dark corners with a high school boyfriend, waking up in the arms of the love of his first year of university and crawling down the boy’s body in the first groggy moments of a late fall morning to pleasure him. 

Both are surprised when the time gets close to 2:00 AM and make concessions to needing to sleep. The lateness, the wine, the perfume of magic make Segundus feel as though he is in two places at once and at times he isn’t sure that he is not. 

“To bed, sir,” says John, and takes him by the collar of his shirt.

Drunk, Segundus giggles and lets himself be undressed. John undresses himself while Segundus yawns and watches. He is soon in a tangle of limbs with John as they settle and soon after that, asleep.

He is cold in his sleep. He wakes to himself shaking. 

For a moment, the room is not his living room. The walls are high, of a dark wood. A window sits above him in a place it does not in his home. He hears the dying cackles of a fire. He is in a bed with a curtain around it, a thin white curtain, a bed in the middle of a large room and then, he is not. 

Beatrice meows and he is there with John again. He tastes wine in his mouth and sees the bottle on the table just in front of them. 

“It’s okay,” John says. 

But his voice is tense. 

 

Segundus’ hangover is mostly gone by the time he gets to work. He has another cup of coffee straight away for a lingering headache, feeling a bit guilty about showing up for work like this. 

It is a long time before he gets to the room of Emma Pole that night. 

When he does, he checks her chart and sees that she did not eat anything that day or before. He tries to speak to her about it, and she refuses. Reading further, he sees that she was sedated several hours ago, a move approved by Norrell. 

Segundus tracks down Norrell to ask him more about the night Emma arrived in the hospital and confront him about the sedation. He finally finds him leaving the room of another patient. Norrell tries to evade him by walking away quickly, but Segundus follows. 

“Excuse me. Excuse me!” 

He calls so loudly that a few nurses turn around to look between them and Norrell has no choice but to stop.

“Yes?” 

Segundus holds out the chart, which Norrell squints at but does not take. 

“I’d like to ask you about Emma Pole.”

“You used to wear a ring,” Norrell says after a long pause, staring at Segundus’ hand and ignoring the chart.

“It was an engagement ring and I am no longer engaged.” 

Norrell thinks on this, mutters something about how busy he is, and then disappears, leaving Segundus with the chart.

Segundus sighs, but as Norrell scurries away, looking once over his shoulder at him, Segundus feels magic waft in his direction, only a thin trail of it, like the smoke of a recently extinguished candle. He curses under his breath.

 

Only an hour before going home, Segundus hits a soft, fragrant wall of magic as he walks down the hallway. The feeling is like being in a field at noon on a warm summer day. 

“John,” he says, smiling. He turns and John is behind him. 

“Why don't you come to mine tonight?” John asks. There is more magic and John moves close to him, puts an arm around his waist. The thrill of being here like this with John in the middle of the hospital makes him grin. A doctor walks right by them but they are concealed. “We can spend the night in a real bed. No offense to your couch.”

Segundus readily agrees. They go together to Segundus’ to pick up clothes and feed Beatrice and then, it is to John’s.

 

John’s flat is smaller than his, almost bare but for his many books and a few pictures of his mother. The place smells of faintly of smoke and underneath it, of cleaner, as though John is very tidy and often mops and wipes things down. John has no sofa himself and his table occupies most of the small kitchen area. They both want tea when they arrive and John makes it for them. Segundus is surprised to find that John has a proper tea set, one that looks very old. It is a happy place to Segundus, each inch saturated in magic, each inch so very much John’s. 

They make love in John’s large bed that nearly takes up all the space in his room. They practice magic on each other until they are dizzy and sweaty in each other’s arms. 

After a rest, John makes sandwiches and they eat while leaned against the headboard of his bed. Later, he reads tarot for Segundus.

“What do they say?” Segundus asks. 

“That you might be the nicest person I have ever met or will meet.”

“Really?” 

“Yes. That and study. You’re nice and you study a lot.” 

Segundus sets his plate on the floor. He fights a desire to tuck John’s hair behind his ears. 

“They make me sound so dull.” 

“Not at all,” says John.

That night is when Segundus learns that John speaks French. As they lie down for the evening, John rattles off whatever he can think of, making Segundus laugh.

“You just recited a grocery list, didn’t you?”

“Oui. I can't believe you understood me though.”

“Maybe your French is compatible to my ears.”

Soon they sleep a heavy sleep, together in the middle of the bed.

John's flat has a rusty, ancient tub and Segundus takes a bath in it after they wake. The window is open and John smokes, his ashtray perched on the sink, sitting on the edge, his feet and legs dangled in. John tickles the small of Segundus’ back with his toes and the laugh echoes against the tile of the bathroom. Segundus watches half John's legs go red from the hot water. He watches his skin and John’s wrinkle up together. 

Then, Segundus asks the question that's been on his mind. 

“Gilbert Norrell is a magician too, isn't he?”

John exhales slowly, a line of smoke that travels above Segundus’ head toward the window. 

“He is. He was a teacher of sorts for me once. I was young.” 

Segundus moves in the bath to where he is sitting between John’s legs. He puts his head on John’s knee and brushes wet hair from his forehead. A few ashes sprinkle into the tub and float near Segundus’ knee. 

“I’m afraid he’s done something to Emma Pole. I don’t think...he’s not a bad man, not really, I don’t think he meant it to hurt her like it has, but he did something.” 

The bathroom is too quiet and Segundus’ heart starts beating too quickly as he waits for John to respond, sure now that John knows. He is cold in the water now too and he wants nothing but the warmth of John again.

“He raised her from the dead, John.” 

“He what?” asks Segundus. He lifts his head to look up at John. 

“He raised her from the dead. She was brought in and died just before he got to her. Her mother was there, shouting, begging. I didn’t know at time or I would have told him not to. Something has gone wrong.” 

“Fuck.” 

He is shivering then, and crying. John helps him up from the bath and wraps him in a towel. Together, they return to bed. 

 

It’s the desk Segundus remembers from the dream he has. 

The desk is large, made of a shining wood. Loose leafs of yellowish paper sit on it. A pot of ink. A quill. It’s a huge piece of furniture but gives off the impression, despite that, of being a bit shabby. 

A jacket is hung on the back of the chair that sits in front of the desk. It is a soft jacket, made of what might be very worn velvet. Moonlight catches it and it shimmers a bit. 

The papers have his name at the bottom. 

John Segundus. 

But it is not his handwriting. That is what he is thinking when he wakes up; that is not my signature. There is something else written there with it, something that doesn’t make sense, but he forgets it as his eyes open. 

He is still wrapped in the towel John brought him to bed in. John has not moved in his sleep but is still wrapped around him as well. For once, he doesn’t wake when Segundus does and Segundus lies there in the dark. He’s calmed by the feeling of John’s magic in the air and John’s breath on his shoulder. 

Go back to sleep, he tells himself. 

He wriggles from the towel and presses against John, who hugs him closer.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the author loses all abandon and DOES WHAT SHE WANTS.

The first moment of the day, a forgetful one. He has slept a long time and even after opening his eyes, drowsiness clings to him. The bed is warm. The room is bright with the spring afternoon. 

Segundus cannot at first remember that he is not in his own home. He rolls over expecting empty space in the bed, or August. But John is pressed against him and the room has a haze of magic hanging over it. The bed smells like his bath in John’s tub the night before, like the bar of plain white soap sitting near the faucet. Segundus turns his head. John still sleeps, his mouth slightly open and his chin on Segundus’ shoulder. 

I'm so glad I didn't get married, he thinks. 

The thought shocks him. It strikes him too as uncharitable as he loved August and knows that August is a good man. But Segundus also knows it's true that this is where he is supposed to be. When he is with John he carries the feeling of home with him. Segundus has no trouble lying still and waiting until he feels John stir. He pulls Segundus closer and lets go a sigh a of contentment as their bodies meet. 

“How long have you been awake?” John asks. 

“Not long.”

John rolls over so that he draped over Segundus, his face buried in his shoulder. 

“Tired?” Segundus asks. He strokes John’s hair that falls over over him. Long legs unfurl against Segundus’ under the blanket and John yawns. 

“No. This is just nice. You're nice.”

John sits up and stretches again, rubbing his neck a little and putting his hair behind his ears. John just after waking has already become a special comfort for Segundus. The end of John’s last yawn turns into a grin as he looks down at Segundus. 

“I guess I should feed you. What'll you have?”

“Oh, anything.”

John stands up from the bed, pulls on his trousers, and goes to make breakfast. While he cooks, Segundus lies on his back, the smell of toast and eggs making its way to the bedroom. Segundus tries to play with the leftover magic in the room like John does and he thinks about it; magic’s smell and feel and its giggles and creaks as it stretches to fill to the room. When his eyes shut, the dream from the night before returns easily. 

His name written in a strange hand. The memory of the dream sharpens a bit when he concentrates. 

"Are you doing magic in there?" John asks. 

Segundus opens his eyes stares at the ceiling like he might see a copy of the letters from him dream there and be able to remember the words that sat with his signature at the bottom of them. But he sees nothing. Soon, John comes to the room with two plates balanced on two mugs of tea. He holds forks in his mouth. 

“Very impressive,” says Segundus, taking his tea and his plate. The first sip of his tea tells Segundus that John has gotten it just right. 

“Didn’t I tell you that I worked through nursing school waiting tables?”

As they eat, Segundus watches John, who absently rubs his cheek with a free hand from time to time. 

“Something wrong?” 

“I woke up with this...phantom ache.” 

When John says the words, Segundus sees a glimpse of what he knows was John’s dream from the night before; mostly a flash of red, John’s face twisted in pain. But it is not his John he sees, but the other one, the rougher one. This is the John he has encountered in other fleeting moments, seen in visions. 

“Your face!” exclaims Segundus. He drops his toast onto the bed as his heart stops for a chilly second. Instinctively, he reaches out to John and places his hand on his cheek, though this John, his John, is fine. The chill thaws against the warmth of John’s skin.

“It’s nothing. Just a dream.” 

“And a phantom ache,” says Segundus.

John grumbles a bit, is unsettled throughout the rest of breakfast. Segundus decides not to mention the dream with the desk and the papers and further distress John or himself, but can't stop himself from watching John, from thinking about the terrible flash of red and the fear in the eyes of this other man with his love’s face. A name rises to the tip of his tongue, but it does not form. Segundus frowns, but John distracts him, slipping a slice of tomato onto his plate. A thought enters his mind though, or two of them. Is the John from the visions real and should he turn out to be so, does he have a John Segundus there with him wherever he is? 

They finish breakfast. Crusts left scattered, stacked in haphazard towers. Streaks of yellow yolk on the plates. There are crumbs on John’s bed scattered like constellations. Segundus offers to clean but John insists on him staying in bed a few more minutes and Segundus lies back. The bedroom door is open and he can see John in the kitchen washing up. He wonders if John has many people over, if he's ever gotten as comfortable with someone as he and August were. 

John showers when he is done cleaning. Segundus rolls over into his stomach to watch John step into the tub, then closes his eyes. Segundus is happy listening to the shower, feeling very much at home at John’s, but soon dressing for work becomes necessary and Segundus takes from his bag the clothes he packed yesterday. By the time John’s shower is done, Segundus is dressed and waiting on the bed. 

“You want to shave?” John asks when he walks into the room. He has left his towel to hang in the bathroom. His hair is still tangled. He picks up an old comb, missing a few teeth, and runs it through his hair. 

“Forgot a razor,” says Segundus. “You didn’t have one.” 

“Just as well. You look good like that.” 

A few minutes later they are ready to leave for the hospital. John grabs his jacket and stands for a moment at the door looking around. 

“Have you seen my hat, love?” he asks. 

“What hat?” 

Clarity returns to John’s face. He frowns pulling his jacket on. 

“Nevermind.” 

 

For the first time, they hold hands on the Tube as they go from John’s house to work. It’s a quick moment; their hands brush together and then, reach for each other. 

The car fills with the smell of magic as their skin meets, which is today the smell of fresh snow. It is only a subtle crispness in the air, but it makes Segundus close his eyes to relish it more. When he opens his eyes, John is smiling at him.

Segundus is astounded that he and John are the only one who notice it. 

 

2:00 AM. His feet hurt, but the rest of him is light. Each bit of him remembers John’s body and his magic and the feeling carries him through his shift. The days since John came to his home for the first time are both a blur and a tangle he is still working to undo. He feels like he's lived a whole life in the last few days, like there was never not John, but also that it is not enough. Segundus runs his tongue over his lips from time to time to bring back the taste of breakfast had in John’s bed and the smoke from John’s cigarette. 

That night, Segundus’ break doesn't line up with John’s, but he sees Strange a few tables over as he sits down. Strange gives a little wave.

“May I?” he asks.

“Sure.”

Strange comes to sit across from him, wearing a very close to sheepish expression.

“I'm guessing I shouldn't mention the other day?” 

“No need. It's really nothing.”

“Well, good for you anyway. I heard Childermass is coming with you to the party. At least that’s what the nurses’ rumor mill has it.”

Segundus is lousy at covering his surprise, coughing a little through the drink of water he is taking and dribbling onto his shirt. Strange is smoother, raising only an eyebrow. He nibbles the end of his coffee stirrer while Segundus wipes his mouth. 

“Are you a thing now?”

“We’re…” Segundus stammers. “We haven't talked about it.”

Strange shrugs in consideration of the complexity of these things but spends a long time looking at Segundus like he can see traces of his and John’s nights together on him. Segundus is not at all sure that isn't the case and he begins to blush. The magic emanating from Strange makes Segundus’ head begin to hurt and he misses the softness of John’s.

“But why, Jonathan? I can't understand...your wife will be there with him in the same place.” Segundus lowers his voice. “It seems a bit cruel to both of them.”

Segundus is surprised to see Strange’s face crumple a little. 

“Childermass is a friend, I guess. I'm not trying to be cruel, John. I really did feel terrible. And I thought you and he might hit it off. I was right too.”

“I know. It's just-” Segundus stops himself, shaking his head. Strange’s magic is a bit stronger now. It produces a tight feeling in Segundus’ chest as well as an off tune buzzing at his ear. He can tell that Strange has no idea of the effect of his magic on him, or that Segundus has any idea of it at all. He wraps up the rest of the sandwich he's bought, suddenly not hungry. 

“I'm going to get back to work, John,” says Strange. “But congratulations. You're nice and you shouldn't be moping after a breakup. You'll do right by him, I know.”

Strange nods and leaves the table quickly. When he is gone, Segundus sets his head down against the table, suddenly tired. He lets his mind go as blank as it can and pushes down the feeling of nausea Strange’s magic has left him with. 

Henry Lascelles. 

He sits up with a start. 

The name he nearly knew this morning he now does. But there is nothing else there, no face to go with the name or anything else. 

He gets out his phone and is surprised to see how many people with the name appear when he searches. All but one are dead, long dead, and there is little information about the one Henry Lascelles who lives. He scrolls through black and white pictures, men in sepia tone, but learns nothing that helps him. 

 

After dinner, he finds out that he has been taken off of Emma Pole’s care. She will now be seen exclusively by Gilbert Norrell.

 

A text from August that he sees on his last break of the day, a short five minutes he spends mostly looking for John. 

I have to know if that man I saw at the flat is the reason you were so often late coming home. I never thought it of you, John, but just tell me yes or no to settle my mind. 

Segundus, tired now and tense, doesn’t answer. 

 

They have breakfast together before going their separate ways for the day. It's a different cafe than before, the time he went with John and the other nurses. This place is more crowded even first thing in the morning. They sit at a table near the window with the sun on their faces. John reaches for his hand and it makes him feel a bit better. 

Segundus has hardly any appetite as he sits in front of his plate of food, so he mostly sips at his tea. He knows he should talk to John about Emma Pole and about being taken off her care by Norrell, but he is drained and John looks it as well, so he lets the worry knot his stomach and he looks at John’s cheek and he thinks the name Henry Lascelles to himself.

“I’m sorry that you found out about the party like that,” says John. “I told Hannah I was thinking of it and I guess someone over heard.”

Segundus reaches over and squeezes John's hand. They grin at the magic they create, a secret that shines briefly in the morning. 

“No, it’s good. I’m pleased you’re coming with me. Are you sure though?” 

“Not really, but it’s one night. And you’ll be there.” 

Segundus goes home alone. Beatrice rubs against his legs, meowing, as he settles in and when he lies down, the cat is eager to lie with him. He rolls over, trying to get comfortable, trying to find a way to sleep that feels as nice as John beside him. 

 

He is looking up into rippling water. There is a hint of silver, like the water is contained. Panic hits at first. He tries his breath and breathing is easy. Knowing that he is not drowning, Segundus eases, watches fuzzy shapes take form in the ripples. 

The image in the water clears and Segundus is looking up at himself.

This man is a bit older than he is though, more gray in his hair. He wears the green jacket from Segundus’ dream the night before. The man smiles down at him. 

“John,” the other Segundus calls from above the water. “John, it's worked. He is here.”

John appears now as well, the one he has seen before in visions, a man with a lined face. A very sharp face indeed. His long hair, John’s long hair, is loose. Gray shows in his beard. 

“This is he? This is you?”

“Of course, John,” says the man who looks just like him. He again smiles his tired smile. “You can see we're the same. He is only younger.”

“Practically a boy,” says the gruff John Childermass. Segundus wants to say that he is thirty five years old and nowhere close to a boy, but he does not. He is too busy staring at the faces above him. 

“Who are you?” asks Segundus.

“I am John Ellison Segundus. As are, somehow, you. John and I have felt your presence.”

The other John Childermass puts his hand on the shoulder of the other Segundus. It is tender and Segundus, the one with gray hair, with a green jacket, moves towards the feeling of the hand. Segundus knows they are in love as well and his heart eases. He spends a moment watching them, wondering about their life. 

“What's happening?” 

“We don't know,” says the other Segundus. His voice is gentle. “But just as you sometimes feel for a moment or so at a time that you have become me, so I feel I am you. It is most disconcerting. But I have seen-”

The other Segundus blushes a little.

“But I have seen that you and John have found each other, and that makes me very happy.”

“What year is it? For you?”

The other John frowns at Segundus and crosses his arms.

“1821. Is that a cat? Your sleeping clothes are odd. Do you do magic?”

“John,” says the other Segundus softly. There is the hint there of years together, in how he looks up at this Childermass. Segundus tries to move but realizes he is still in a dream of sorts, perhaps still asleep. The other men must have done magic to find him and he knows it cannot last long. He must ask a particular question before this is over. He feels the weight of the name that came to him earlier. 

“Who is Henry Lascelles? What did he do to John where you are from?”

The Segundus and Childermass on the other side of water look at each other. 

“Wait? He’s not there?” asks the other Childermass.

“No,” says Segundus. 

The water wobbles a bit and there is a rustle of noise from the world of the other men. The Childermass on the other side of the water clutches Segundus’ arm. The gray haired version of himself leans close to the other Childermass and says something so quietly that Segundus cannot hear it. He turns back to face him. 

“We cannot stay long. It has taken very strong magic to find you and John is additionally keeping us safe while we work. Please, though, quickly. Is John Childermass well in your world?” asks the other Segundus. 

“Very.”

“Good,” says the Segundus above him. “Keep him that way. He has a habit of getting himself gravely injured here.”

The other John huffs gently.

“We don't know what has happened in his world. Lascelles isn't even in that place and Lady Pole-”

“What?” asks Segundus. “Pole? Emma Pole?”

“I have spoken too much.”

“We must go,” says the other Segundus, looking over his shoulder as he finishes the sentence. “Keep John safe and Lady Pole as well. If he is there, find Stephen Black and try to help him. He may be in trouble.”

They are gone. 

Segundus’ phone rings as he wakes up. Or he is woken by his phone. In the grogginess he cannot tell. He sees when he rolls over that he has only been asleep for a short time. 

He has time as he answers the phone to wonder why Jonathan Strange is calling him and why his ex fiancé’s uncle might be in trouble. That's all before the phone connects.

“John?”

He knows the news is bad from just how Strange says his name, not even waiting for Segundus to answer before speaking. 

 

He stumbles downstairs where the car, sent by Strange, is waiting. 

Segundus knows that he is a mess. He's been crying since Strange called a quarter hour ago. A few people stop and look twice at him as he wipes at his face with his sleeve, but he doesn't care. 

The driver is discrete, asking no questions as they make their way across town. 

Strange is waiting for them when they arrive and he ushers Segundus out of the car and into the hospital. 

“He's still in surgery,” Strange says. “But it's going well. There's no reason to believe he won't make it.”

“How did this happen? Where is she?”

Strange stops and he sighs, looking more weary than Segundus has ever seen him.

“John…”

“Is she safe? She can't have known what she was doing.”

“She didn't, John. She's in a room right now under observation by the psychiatrists. I should tell you though that the police are there too. She may be...transferred.” 

“To prison? Jonathan, no. She’s ill. Very, very ill.” 

“She also shot someone. Easily could have killed someone. There’s nothing we can do right now.”

Strange doesn’t say anything else after that for some time. 

Where is his mother? Does he have any brothers or sisters? Anyone we can call?

These questions barely register to Segundus as they walk. He is embarrassed to be unable to answer any of them. 

“Ask Hannah,” he mumbles. 

Strange puts him into a waiting room where he sleeps in a chair for a few hours. His last thought is that he wishes the other Segundus were able to give him advice. The man was so calm, he would surely be able to help, to say something to make this better. 

He wakes after a very light sleep and Hannah appears with a cup of coffee minutes later. She pats Segundus on the hand and he can she tries very hard, for what he thinks is his sake, not to cry. 

“He's out of surgery. Sleeping though. Someone will take you to him soon. Oh, you two did not deserve this. He'd found someone nice and now…”

She loses her resolve then and they sit crying together for a while until she needs to return to work. Segundus gets a peck on the cheek before she goes and Hannah squeezes his hand. 

“You’re not going through this alone,” she says. 

Segundus sleeps again until a hand on his shoulder wakes him. Jonathan is there. His hair is a bit wild and there are dark circles under his eyes, but he smiles. 

“He's still asleep. But you can come up now.”

He follows Strange into the elevator and then down a hallway. Many of the nurses give him little waves. 

John is pale, but otherwise he looks astonishingly like the John that slept next to him only a day ago, like he might wake up and bring them breakfast. If it weren’t for the beeping of the machines, the IV sticking out of the back of his already bruising left hand, it would be easy to imagine. If it weren’t for the hospital gown and the thin blanket covering him, it would be easy to imagine. The shaking starts in Segundus’ hands and spreads until he is trembling.

“He’ll live, John,” says Strange.

Segundus sobs. 

 

It's not until he leaves the hospital an hour later that he sees August’s text.

You've got nerve, John Segundus. But you've never lied so I believe you that there was no one else. Sorry I asked. I knew that wasn't like you. Here’s my uncle’s number. What the hell you want it for I don't know. He's not well right now though and my cousin from America has come to see him. I wouldn't call. 

 

The young woman who answers the phone doesn't want to speak to him at first, especially when he says who he is and that he wants to see Mr Black. She has one of those accents like from the television shows, that sounds like it could be from anywhere in America. He tries to remember if August ever mentioned where his cousin lived.

“Miss-”

“I need to go.”

Then he realizes he's left off the most important piece of information.

“Didn't August tell you I'm a doctor?”

In the pause that follows, he hears her breathe. 

“A doctor?”

“Yes.”

She tells him to come as soon as he can.

 

Peter Segundus at first tries to dissuade his son from going to the house of his ex’s uncle. When that doesn't work, he asks why John wants him to go with him instead of his mother. She is after all a fellow physician. 

“Dad, please.”

Peter Segundus has never been good at saying no to his son. He says he'll pick John up in an hour.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Childermass chapter

He knew, even in his sleep, that the man was real. That question had at least been answered. What he did not know was what to do about it since he could not move as he was asleep, or why the man, a copy of himself who had appeared in visions for days now, watched him in the darkness of his dreams. 

At first Childermass was not at all comforted by the watchful apparition because the only thing he saw was himself staring down, arms crossed tersely, as if daring him to die, to just try it and see what happened. His other self smoked a pipe and picked at his nails while he sat there on the other side of the basin of water. Childermass recognized the magic if he did not know how it had been used to see him in a dream and how he was aware of it and annoyed by it on top of everything. His other self brought out the cards from an unseen pocket and flipped through them, his eyes flicking up every now and then. His watch seemed endless.

But then John came. The other one.

He was as soft skinned and big eyed as the John he knew, gray hair pushed away from his forehead. 

What a comfort that face was, even if it was not exactly John’s. The not quite John’s expression lit up when he saw Childermass through the magical window he had created in the water and Childermass wondered if that was what his own John felt about him, that flicker of joy that could not be contained. Crinkles his John did not have around Dream John’s eyes formed when he smiled. 

“Oh, there you are,” he said. Even in sleep, Childermass missed John heartily in that moment, hearing John’s voice come from this man so much like him. “Look what you've done to yourself, John Childermass. But never mind. I am here.”

The smile, John’s smile, never left his sweet face.

I hope I get to see those lines around John's eyes one day, Childermass thought as he watched Dream John smile, that I live to see him age.

“He is waiting for you,” the Dream John told him. 

“Don't be afraid,” the Dream John told him. It was the voice that his John used with patients to calm them. 

How could he be afraid with the comfort of that smile and voice? When the Dream John watched him, all was well. Dream John hummed a wobbly, off key song while he watched Childermass. Dream John even prayed over him in a rather old fashioned way, though his voice broke at the end with a simple plea to keep John Childermass safe. To Childermass’ knowledge, no one had ever prayed over him before. Childermass loved it all and his pain was eased. He felt he must tell this John, even if he was not quite his John, that he was grateful. He felt he must attempt to say he how hard he was trying to return and resume their lives. Maybe his John would know it if this one did. He opened his mouth, or thought he did. In the dreaming it was hard to tell.

“Don't try to speak,” Dream John told him. “Now, you need to rest.”

So he did. He was still and peaceful under the careful eye of a John Segundus somewhere far away. 

“What a thing to look at you,” Dream John whispered. “What a thing to see his face on you all the way over there. Do you know, I feel I love you as well, silly as it might be. Who knows where you are, but you are John Childermass. How could I not?”

The other John Childermass made a last appearance. He came with his pipe again, the world where he was dark behind him. His cheeks were flushed and chapped like he had been hours out in the cold. He spent a long time packing his pipe and getting it lit and then he stared. 

“I've seen through your eyes, you know,” he said at last. “I've felt with your heart. That pounding in your chest when he holds you? It’s pounded in my chest. Your John Segundus smells just the same as mine. How it can be I don’t know, but he does.”

John Childermass watched his odd reflection exhale a mouth full of smoke.

“Your John is mine too. Because of that I will say this. You must not hurt him. You will wake and you will go to him. You will live a happy life making him happy and that is all there is to it. He will not bury you. It is what I want for John Segundus, no matter which one he is or where he is found.”

Childermass did not respond to himself. The John Childermass from the other world set down his pipe and nodded at the John Childermass lying in the hospital bed.

“I am glad we have that settled.” 

Childermass opened his eyes. 

It was night now and the hospital room was dark. There was glow of red from a machine hooked up some place behind him. He was alone, or so he thought until someone in the corner coughed. 

“Norrell,” he said. 

“Good. You're awake.”

“I'm hungry.”

“Yes, of course.” 

Norrell stood and pushed the button that called the nurse for him. He then backed slowly from the bed. 

Childermass lifted his hand enough to pull back the hospital gown and see the puckered wound in his shoulder. Norrell, his mouth twisted shut and all color drained from his face, looked like he might vomit. He reached behind him as if to find something to steady himself, but his hand found only air. He righted himself a second before a stumble.

“Excuse me a moment,” Norrell said before fleeing the room.

The machines continued their rhythm and their little show of lights. 

Norrell did not come back. A nurse was soon in and she took his temperature and brought him ice. Childermass crunched the ice and let it slip down his throat half melted and the nurse played with the buttons on his machines. He knew her job and just what she did, each of her movements. More of the music of keeping him alive. The nurse said she would ask about food. 

“My doctor was just here,” Childermass grumbled. 

Childermass closed his eyes as soon as she was gone and again he slept, thinking as he did that he hoped Dream John would return.

 

A Welsh voice woke him next in the morning from a dream without the two men from the other world. He realized it with regret as he came to, that he had not been with Dream John. 

“John? John?” 

Hannah nearly fell over with relief when he opened his eyes. She was not in her uniform but in a tee shirt and a pair of jeans, he noticed, so she must have come on her day off. He couldn't tell then how long he had been asleep.

“Oh, well done!” 

“All I did was wake up,” said Childermass. His voice was gravely and his eyes would not focus.

Hannah kissed him on the forehead and reached for the cup of water next to the bed. She frowned down into it and plucked out a rose petal, which she laid aside. Childermass saw now, as Hannah stood to dump the old water and pour some new, that the table was full of flowers and cards. 

“That sweet doctor was here for ages yesterday,” said Hannah. “I think he's fallen a bit in love with you, so there's another lucky star to thank.”

“Have you seen him since?”

“No, but he should be back soon, I'd imagine. I don’t think he would be far from you for long.”

Childermass laid his head back, trying to figure out again what day it was and guess when John might be in. 

“There’s someone else here to see you though,” Hannah said as she returned to the bed with fresh water. 

She held the cup to his lips and he drank in large gulps.

“Who?” Childermass asked when he was done. 

“I don’t know him. Should I let him in?” 

She motioned toward the door. August Black stood staring down at his shoes. Childermass cursed a little under his breath but without any fire to it. God, he was tired. He wished that John were here. No. He wished he was at John’s with that cat of his, or his own place watching John having a bath. There was not even a scrap of magic in the room and he ached for it. 

“Should I let him in?” Hannah asked again. 

August looked up and when they met eyes, he waved in a horribly embarrassed way. 

Childermass said yes. 

 

“I'm so sorry to bother you,” said August when they were alone. 

Childermass raised an eyebrow. 

“Actually I'm sorry in general. For the other day, sorry that this has happened to you…”

His nervous chatter trailed off. He worried at the expensive watch around his wrist. 

“Why are you here?” asked Childermass. 

August’s eyes got large and he started to cry. It was was an instantaneous and fierce sobbing. Childermass barely kept his hearty groan contained. 

“John and my cousin have gone somewhere and no one can find them.”

Childermass tried to sit but it was too much and he fell back against his pillow.

“Your cousin? What? What does your cousin have to do with anything? Is John hurt?”

August crumpled down into the free chair next to the bed, his head in his hands. 

“Why don't you start by telling me how you even knew I was here,” said Childermass. 

August took off his tear stained glasses and cleaned them on his shirt. He returned them to his face seeming a bit more settled. 

“Well, the shooting was all over the place. I recognized you in the pictures from the news because, well…”

A deep sigh slithered through Childermass’ body. 

“I'm in the news?”

“Of course,” said August. “I didn't even know your name until I heard them say it there. I’ve been trying to find you all morning. That nice Welsh woman, when I told her I wanted to help John, told me she'd do what she could. Sorry? Are you awake?”

“Resting my eyes,” said Childermass wearily. “You'll have to forgive me. I was shot a few hours ago. Go ahead, tell me everything.”

His eyes still closed, he listened to August speak. 

“John texted yesterday, something odd about wanting my uncle’s phone number. Next thing you know, well a few hours ago anyway, his father is calling me in hysterics and my uncle too. Somehow John and my cousin have disappeared from my uncle’s garden. Neither of them have responded when we called or texted. I have the worst feeling about it. I thought maybe you could help.”

Childermass grunted. His heart raced at the news that something had happened to John, but he was stuck here in this bed, exhausted and wounded and in a flimsy gown. 

“I thought you could help,” muttered August. “Because he loves you. Much more than he did me. I could tell, when I saw you in the flat the other day, when I saw his face when he was with you. It was why I cried. It was why I was so terrible. Please try to understand what that was like for me. I made a huge mistake leaving him and I knew it. John was the love of my life. Is. And I found out I wasn't his.”

It was a long time before Childermass responded. 

“August, on the chair you're sitting in, my trousers are hung. Look in the pockets, will you, and hand me the cards you find.”

August quickly found the cards and handed them over. 

“Now, my keys.”

Those procured, August attempted to give them to Childermass, but Childermass shook his head. 

“You're going to go to my flat and get a silver basin from my kitchen. It looks like a mixing bowl, but it's not. You're going to bring it back here.”

August nodded eagerly. 

“Okay.”

“But first.”

“Yes?”

“Please ring John’s dad and one of you go feed his cat.”

August stood from chair, a determined look in his face and he smiled at Childermass. Childermass shook his head, supposing now that liking August was something that was just going to happen. 

“It's nice to officially meet you, August. I'm sorry we didn't get off on a better foot.”

“Me too.”

“And what you thought about me and John being together before you two broke up-” 

“Don’t mention it. John Segundus would never and I know that.”

Soon, August had dashed from the room. Childermass allowed himself a moment of peace lying in the hospital bed. The morning sun stretched happily across his legs like nothing had happened, in just the same way it did when he was lying with John on his couch only a few days ago.

When August returned with the basin, he would try to find John. Baring that, there was another John Childermass he wanted to talk to. 

 

When August arrived back at the hospital, John Childermass was dressed and his ragged set of tarot were strewn on the floor across from his bed. Childermass sat with a glower on his face, watching them.

“Something wrong?” August asked. He set the silver bowl down on the bed. 

“They did not tell me what I wanted.”

“Did you...expect them to speak to you?”

“Yes,” said Childermass. 

August walked the very small distance to where the cards had been thrown and began to pick them up. Childermass sighed and then pulled himself up and began to help him. Bending down, however, brought a gasp of pain and then it brought tears to his eyes which he wiped away quickly. 

“I can do this,” said August.

Childermass grunted and reached for another card, but he nearly toppled over and August needed to catch him before he fell to the floor. 

“Go on,” said August. 

Reluctantly, Childermass held August’s shoulder to help him stand and then went back to the bed. August collected the cards within a minute and handed them back to their owner.

“Thank you,” said Childermass. He gave the cards a hard and judgemental roll of his eyes and put them on the table with a thud as though he were teaching them a lesson. 

“Of course.”

The cards set aside now, Childermass picked up the silver basin. August watched him, frowning.

“What are you going to do with that?”

Childermass said nothing for a long time. Then he lifted his eyes for a brief moment to August.

“What do you do again?” he asked.

“I’m a lawyer.”

“Okay. Well, I'm about to do something that will be decidedly odd to you, August. If it works. If it doesn't, I'm just going to look a bit mad. But I’m not. Fill this with water for me please.”

August did and put the full basin back in Childermass’ hands. Childermass drew two lines across the surface of the water and began to mutter to himself. Nothing happened and when Childermass opened his eyes to see only water in the basin, his expression darkened immediately.

“Please don't throw that,” said August.

“I won't,” said Childermass through clinched teeth. 

“What were you trying to do?”

“Find John and your cousin.”

August spent several seconds looking back and forth between Childermass and the basin.

“Oh. Well. Thank you,” he said gently. “That's very-”

“I'm going to try something else.”

Again, Childermass drew on the surface of the water. Again, he muttered fiercely to himself. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. Soon, he had gone pale. August held his arm once when Childermass tottered and seemed to nearly faint. 

“Are you alight?”

“Fine.”

He pushed more magic into the basin, more than he had thought he had. He felt a tightness in his skin and at the front of his head a sharp pain began. At first, he was frozen, but then there was the sensation of hot water being poured all over him. There was a break somewhere in his being. It was like a hard snap, one he almost heard, that jolted him. He had pushed himself to become a conduit for all the magic nearby and it flowed through him into the basin.

A flash. A blink. He saw before him a large, dark room, a heavy wardrobe in the corner. His own voice said something that he was not saying in this world. The room disappeared, but Childermass continued to push himself.

Childermass thought that if John were here, he would have something to say about the magic filling the room. John would add to it and Childermass would get the pleasure of feeling John’s magic mingling with his, of John gripping his hand as magic overtook him. If John were here, John would kiss him and put him back to bed, telling him that he did too much. But John was not here.

It was then that the water changed, clouding over like it was filled with smoke. 

“Oh my god,” said August. 

A face appeared in the water as John Childermass opened his eyes and looked down at himself, at the John Childermass from the other world. 

“What is going on over there?” the other Childermass demanded as August cursed loudly. 

“I don't know,” said Childermass. Even the exertion of breathing made him cough and sputter. “As you’re aware, I’ve been a bit indisposed. Why?”

The two John Childermasses rolled their eyes at the same time. 

“Whatever it is, fix it. And now.”

In Childermass’ hands, the basin began to shake as a combination of magical strain, tiredness deep within him, and terror overtook his body. August took part of the basin and tried to help hold it steady.

“What happened?” 

Childermass’ heart stopped. He felt it on the other side of the water as well. 

“John will not wake up.”

Darkness at the corners of his vision. August called for him as the basin fell from his hands and to the floor. 

 

The sun had changed again the next he woke. It was now early evening. The sun glittered off a small mirror above the sink and made prisms on the ceiling.

August was huddled in a corner. Gilbert Norrell stood at the end of his bed. 

“What did you do?” Norrell asked in a faint hiss. 

“You know,” said Childermass. He looked down at himself. Still dressed, he was glad to see, and not put back into a gown. The mood in the room was tense, secretive, like the two men had been working together to keep from anyone knowing what had happened. 

“It was you,” whispered August. “There. In that bowl.” 

Childermass could not help the smirk that came to his lips. 

“I told you it’s not a bowl.” 

“Who is he?” snapped Norrell. He swiveled slightly toward where August stood and poked a finger at the air. “He won’t leave. He says he’s your legal counsel in the matter with the Pole woman. He has threatened to contact more lawyers if we try to make him go.” 

Childermass turned his face to look at August. Again, August waved a tiny embarrassed wave with his hand at his waist. Childermass nearly laughed. 

“Mr Black is a friend. And the other thing too. Legal counsel. I need you to discharge me now.” 

“Why?”

“I have things to do. With my lawyer. Discharge me, please.” 

“Will you be doing more magic?” 

“Almost certainly,” said Childermass. 

Norrell rolled his eyes pitifully and let out a whiny groan. 

“I’ll get the paperwork started. But do not show that lawyer any more magic!”

 

He left the hospital an hour later with August in a cab headed toward his uncle’s home. 

“Can Mr Segundus meet us there? I want to ask him what John was like when he was last saw him.” 

“I’ll text him,” said August. 

“Thanks.” 

Childermass nodded. Cool air on his face from the cracked window helped the nausea and exhaustion that he did not want to admit were strong. He had vomited once leaving the hospital, which August pretended had not happened except for handing him a tissue and allowing his brow to furrow in worry for a moment. He desperately needed a cigarette he could not have until they had arrived, but he got out the pack for the feel of them in his hand and the comforting smell. Childermass felt August trying not to watching him too much. He put the cigarettes away.

“Peter- Mr Segundus- took John’s cat back to their place. You seemed worried about the cat earlier. I thought you’d want to know.” 

They were quiet for a few more miles and Childermass nearly fell asleep in the crawl of traffic. 

“You’re a good boyfriend,” said August. His voice was soft and his words rushed with the relief of having them said. It was obvious that he had been working up to saying this for some time. 

Childermass did not answer. It was not the sentiment he had a problem with, only that he did not know at all if he could be called John’s boyfriend. He had only come to terms since waking from his surgery that he was very much in love with John Segundus, who he had been with for less than a week. He was also extraordinarily tired. For a brief second, as he looked out at the street, his vision changed and he saw through the other John Childermass’ eyes again. Dream John lay in a large bed, a canopy bed with heavy curtains pulled back. He wore a long white night shirt soaked through with sweat. His body was as still as a frozen pond. The room was dark but for the light of a candle. Then, Childermass was back in the cab. The image of John Segundus ill in bed, even a John Segundus he had not met, did not sit well with him. 

“Would you like to know something funny?” asked August as Childermass came back from his vision. 

“Sure.” 

“I played a bit of trick on that grumpy little doctor.” 

Childermass turned to look at August. 

“I’m an intellectual property lawyer. I really couldn’t prosecute on your behalf at all.” 

August’s mouth moved into a little grin, and Childermass’ laugh filled the cab.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's officaly a crossover guys.

He is in the home of the other men. John, the craggy John with a faded cravat at his neck, is across from him at the dining room table. The chill of a large and poorly insulated old house is sharp on the bits of him that are exposed; the back of his neck, his wrists. He smells freshly baked bread and the melting of the warm wax candles that are in a line on the table, a table large enough for many more people than the two of them. He watches John eat using a spoon with his left hand. John’s right hand, a cut yawning open in red across the back, rests on the table, unused. Segundus feels his hand inch toward this other John. 

“You hurt yourself,” Segundus says with a soft voice. Only he does not say it. The other one does. His head, their heads, swims a little and his mouth tastes of a very strong wine. He touches his pointer finger to John's and John momentarily hooks their fingers together.

“It's nothing, love.”

“Be careful with your words.”

His whisper gently moves the flame of a candle as he turns his head, as if watching for someone over his shoulder. John reaches for his hand. He feels lips and a greying beard against his skin. 

“It is nothing, Professor Segundus.”

Though his heart, their hearts, beat faster with trepidation, Segundus feels a laugh make its way through him. He tries to stifle it as he pulls his hand away.

“John.” 

If a word were a blush this would it be it. 

“You should have some more wine,” John says. “It's only we two tonight.”

“We and Charles and the new footman, and the maids, and the cook and her girl, and...” 

John laughs and pours him more wine any way. 

“Pedant,” he whispers affectionately and he places a hand on Segundus’ thigh. Now he leans close and places a kiss to Segundus’ earlobe and then the place behind his ear. 

“And Benedick,” says Segundus. His voice is breathless and giggling as he makes a not truly authentic attempt to stop John kissing him and push him away. “We can't forget the cat.”

The vision ends with his father saying his name.

“John?”

Segundus is returned sharply to the passenger side of his father's car. The world here feels overly hot, overly bright. He runs his tongue across his teeth but there is no hint of wine. After sharing a vision with the other John Segundus, he always feels less, like he is missing something important of himself. He misses his love in that other word as well, the other John’s rough hands, the smell of the outdoors clinging to him, though he has never really felt those hands or smelled that John’s skin. 

“Sorry, Dad.”

“Are you sure you're alright?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

His heart is broken for them though, for the other versions of himself and John, hiding their love, being careful even over dinner in their own home. He burrows down into his seat. If things were as they should be, he and John would be together now, in one of their homes. Maybe they would be asleep still; his couch or John’s bed either. He wonders how it is fair that they are allowed such freedom while their other selves are condemned to live and love in hiding and fear.

“John, I want to say again that I think you should reconsider this,” says Mr Segundus. “I know you're trying to be kind, but I'm not sure going to see Mr Black is a good idea at all.”

“He's sick, Dad. I need to help.”

Mr Segundus smiles a fatigued but proud half smile. 

“Just like your mother.”

His father does not press it further. He is not quiet exactly though and makes pleasant conversation with his son until Segundus begins to relax. Soon they have parked in front of a small house with a neat and unassuming garden in the front. 

“I’ll wait here,” says Mr Segundus. 

Segundus walks to the door alone and knocks. The woman who answers surprises him by looking an uncanny amount like August, only with much more hair. It stops him at first and he steps back.

“Dr Segundus?”

“John, please.”

He does not remind her that he was at one point only a few weeks ago close to becoming a member of her family. Her look of incredulity does not soften, but she moves to allow him into the doorway. 

“I'm Farah. Come in, please.”

He steps into the large house, into a room full of sunlight that makes his forehead break out into sweat. 

But that is not all. He knows the feeling but cannot quite believe that it is here. He is overwhelmed for only a second by the scent of stale smoke that he knows does not come from inside the house at all. He shakes his head to regain his composure. 

“So you're the guy my dumb cousin left at the alter?” asks Farah. She stops to cross her arms. 

Segundus frowns. His attention is momentarily drawn away from the nudging of magic as he feels himself becoming flustered. He is reminded very much in the moment, watching Farah and how she stands in a way so similar to him, of arguing with August.

“It's, well- It’s much more complicated than that. And there were two months until the wedding, so no one got left at the alter.”

Farah lowers her eyes, trying to cover embarrassment.

“Sorry. I shouldn't have said it like that. I know things have been hard for everyone.”

It is hard to be annoyed with someone who looks so much like someone he cared- cares, still, in a different way- so much for. 

“No, I’m sorry,” says Segundus. “It's a been a long day.”

She leads him further into the house. The feeling of magic begins to choke Segundus more with each step.

“Are you okay John?”

He turns to answer her but does not get to. Another voice joins theirs. The magic screams. 

“Who’s here Farah?”

Stephen Black walks into the room then. Gold glitters on his wrist. A crown on his head. But it doesn't. There isn’t. Again he is a man in a button down shirt, a tired looking man.

“This is my father,” says Farah. 

“We’ve met,” says Stephen. His eyes linger on Segundus, “Please, come inside.” 

Segundus follows him and Farrah, unsteady on his feet. They enter a large parlor and Stephen turns to his daughter. 

“Can I speak to John in private?” he asks. 

Farah leaves, albeit reluctantly, and the two men are alone. 

“What has happened to you?” Stephen asks. “And who is that man who looks just like you?”

 

The man who jumped from the car to greet them bore little resemblance to John, thought Childermass. Taller, heavier, his hair curly where John’s was not. 

But his eyes behind the pair of wire framed glasses. Those he knew, and the kindness in them. 

Mr Segundus ran to August and Childermass and stopped a few inches short of them. He studied Childermass while trying not to make it too obvious that he did or to let any judgement rise to his expression. Childermass saw it all clearly though. No worry, he thought. I have never tested well with parents. Childermass was grateful to have August there, even if he did make him look even shabbier and older in comparison.

“Peter, this is John Childermass,” said August.

Peter Segundus surveyed him for a moment longer and then put out his hand with a smile that Childermass was curious to see was genuine. Childermass took his hand, but only for a moment. 

“John has mentioned you,” Mr Segundus said. “So sorry to hear about…”

He motioned vaguely at Childermass to indicate his injuries.

“I'm fine,” said Childermass. He realized that now was not the best time for the cigarette he wanted desperately and it made him even more agitated. “I want to find John. How was he? When you saw him before all of this happened?” 

“He was very odd,” said Mr Segundus as they began to follow August to the house. “He seemed worried. Distracted.” 

“Well, his boyfriend had just been shot, Peter,” said August. 

Childermass and Peter Segundus coughed nervously at the same time. Childermass thought he felt eyes on him like Mr Segundus sneaked a look in his direction but he did not look to confirm. 

August opened the door to his uncle’s home without knocking, calling as he walked inside. 

“Uncle Stephen? We’re here. It’s me and Peter and…” 

August trailed off with a slow glance at Childermass. By the time he looked at him and his eyes had a chance to widen at what he saw, Childermass was already leaned against the wall, white faced and weak. The magic in the hall had attached itself to him like weights and pulled him down.

“Peter!” August called. 

Mr Segundus turned just in time to lend a shoulder to Childermass before he fell over. 

“What is it?” asked Mr Segundus. “Is it your wound?”

Childermass shook his head. Mr Segundus lowered him gently to the floor. He tried to push away a moment of sharing a vision with the other John Childermass, but it took over for a moment. The feeling of a feverish hand in his. Tears on his face. 

“The other young man was just the same,” said Stephen Black from the doorway he had just walked to stand in, making three pairs of eyes look up at him at once. It was Childermass who held his attention though. 

“My son?” asked Mr Segundus. He looked at Childermass’ pained face. “He was like this too?”

“Yes,” said Stephen. “He said it was magic.”

“Magic?” Mr Segundus shook his head. “Why would John say that?”

“Because that is precisely what it is,” said Childermass. 

Stephen Black nodded. He still had not taken his eyes from Childermass.

“Can you stand?” asked Stephen. “I think you might be more comfortable in the other room.”

Childermass pushed himself up off the floor with a grimace. When he was standing, Peter Segundus wrapped an arm around him to keep him from falling back down.

“John?”

Childermass watched the bit of discomfort that crossed Mr Segundus’ face at first when he applied this familiar name, the name of his son, to him. But it was soon replaced by real concern. Now, thought Childermass. Now he looks like John. 

“Your shirt,” Mr Segundus said.

Childermass looked down to see that he had bled through his bandage. A spot of red spread across his chest. 

Again the blackness of unconsciousness threatened him, but the other John Childermass returned to his body and being. 

He saw himself in the dark bedroom of the previous vision doing magic over John (he refused to think ‘John’s body’), magic he knew he should not be doing and he screamed no. 

Sharpness again; his heart was going much too quickly now. The other John Childermass clung to him still. Mr Segundus leaned over him, August and Stephen Black wore similar looks of shock. 

“You two might be in even more trouble than I am,” said Stephen. 

“Four,” said Childermass. “We four.” 

 

Segundus does not ask what other man Stephen means as he knows. Instead, he asks

“You can see him?”

Stephen nods. Another sparkle of gold that disappears quickly. 

“He's…”

“You,” says Stephen. He sinks down into a plush chair in front of the window. “He’s like a shadow. And you are his.”

“He is. I thought you might be more surprised.”

“Nothing at all surprises me these days. John, I am so tired.”

A dog runs in from the other room, a small brown dog with long hair that sits at Stephen Black’s feet looking up. The dog’s presence seems to calm him and Stephen reaches down to put a hand on his head.

“I’ll try to help,” Segundus sputters. He has to say something. “I’m a doctor and- well, I’m a magician. I think.” 

He half expects laughter, half wants to laugh himself at the ridiculous proclamation, but Stephen does no such thing. 

“He says magicians are the worst kind of useless.”

“Who says?” asks Segundus. 

The dog barks and stands at attention. His nose is pointed into a corner and his lip raises in a snarl. Again, the dog barks before whimpering and sitting down to be petted. Farah Black enters the room again quickly. Segundus thinks how obvious it was that she waited just outside the door. 

“Is everything okay?” she asks. 

A crackling laugh. Segundus thinks maybe that he is the only one that hears it, but a glance tells him that Stephen does as well. 

“John?” 

It is the Childermass in the other word speaking. That John Segundus sits on a large bed with his Childermass bare chested in front of him. Lightness. The other Segundus has become a bit drunk, but the lightness brought on by wine and ardor turns without warning to a sharp pain in his chest, a feeling of magic suffocating him. He, they, the two Segunduses together, reach for Childermass and try to call for him as the world narrows.

“John?” says the other Childermass again. He scrambles across the bed to reach him. 

He is too loud, thinks the other Segundus weakly and so Segundus thinks it as well. Someone will hear him in here. And I am wearing nearly nothing. His thoughts are so foggy though. The world is so very slim and dark. 

The blackness scares him as it crawls over him and settles. He tries so hard to reach John, to complete even the small act of saying his name, but he cannot. 

Then again it is sunlight, the stillness of Stephen Black’s parlor. He shakes from head to foot. Father and daughter seem much less surprised at the fear he displays as he returns to his own world than he expected. He gasps and he folds over at his stomach in anticipation of vomiting. He is not drunk any more, nor cold and nearly naked. The magic of the world still constricts him though as he pulls himself up again sits catching his breath and letting his body still. Segundus is too weak to apologize for his state, but feels he does not have to anyway. 

Several moments pass. The dog approaches him and puts his head on Segundus’ knee and Segundus feels it is a comfort. Stephen continues to regard him with concern. 

“Farrah, why don’t you take John outside for some fresh air before we talk about things? I’ll get some tea started.” 

“Yes,” Segundus mumbles. 

He shakes again when he stands up, unsteady on his feet. The dog whines softly as he and Farah leave the room.

 

In the end, August brought Childermass to a spare room in his uncle’s home. Childermass lay down with gratitude in the soft bed as soon as he saw it. Footsteps and the creak of hinges as August slipped out of the room. 

Maybe if I sleep, Childermass thought, that other me will come back here and I can give him a piece of my mind. 

But neither thing happened. 

A soft knock. August returned with a box of adhesive bandages and a fresh shirt. 

“You should change,” he said. “I’ll leave the things here.” 

Childermass unbuttoned his shirt and ripped the gauze and sterile tape from his chest. He felt foolish sticking the other bandages on his gunshot wound, in completing literally such a cliche, but it was not after all large. Stephen Black’s shirt fit him well too. Having never been in this situation before, he was pleased at how much better he felt for not being bloody any more. 

“You’re outside the door, aren’t you?” asked Childermass when he was dressed. 

“Yes,” replied August. He creaked open the door. A cup of tea was in one hand and he approached the bed holding it out to Childermass. 

“John, I’m so scared.” 

“Me too,” said Childermass. 

August sank down onto the bed next to him. 

“Peter and Uncle Stephen reported John and Farah missing. The story kind of took off.” 

He took his phone from his pocket and showed Childermass a local news site, John’s picture next to one of a woman who could be no one else but August’s cousin. 

Not far underneath, there was a photo of Emma Pole being led from the hospital by the police. Her large eyes are terrified and her husband follows behind. 

“Shit.”

 

“Do you smoke?” asks Farrah. 

“No,” says Segundus. 

The sunlight on his face grounds him, warms him, and his shaking has stopped now. 

I am here, he tells himself over and over. I am here and it is March 29th and the sun is shining. John is in the hospital, but he’s safe and I’ll see him again tonight. Tomorrow, I might take him home. He picks up a blade of grass to feel it between his fingers, proof that he knows what reality is in this moment. 

Farah keeps her distance but watches him closely. 

“Are you sick? You look sick.” 

“No. I don’t know what is going on, but my health is fine.” 

They stand in quiet for a moment. Segundus fills himself with the spring air. 

A hissing voice. It seems to be made from the air from itself. It feels, as it reaches him, a cold thing. 

“Magician.” 

He turns a sharp circle to find where it comes from. There is no one but Farah though. 

“Magician. I have only seen that your kind are ugly, but you are a bit less so than others. Though, I don’t care much at all for that scrawny ragamuffin you’re letting warm your bed. You’re powerful as well, to appear in two places at once. And look what you have brought me. She is exceptional.”

The world around him melts and sags. He stumbles toward Farrah, who seems to have sensed nothing at all amiss, in an attempt to block her from whatever force had appeared in the garden. 

“Maybe, magician, we can be friends after all.” 

 

There were soft fingers on his wrist, whispered conversation trickled down to his ears. He recognized August's voice and the second voice was a woman’s. 

A door shut and Childermass groaned as he opened his eyes. 

The fingers dropped as he regarded the woman sitting on the edge of the bed. She was younger looking than he would have thought for a woman of the age he guessed she must be. Except for her hair, which Childermass imagined had been gray for a while. 

“Dr Segundus,” he said. 

“Hello, John. You fell asleep but you seemed a bit feverish to August, so I thought I'd check on you since I was here. You're fine. Strong pulse and your color is good now.”

“You didn't come just for me, did you?”

“No,” said Dr Segundus. “I'm here for my husband. He needs to go home and rest. I did bring a proper bandage for that wound of yours though.”

“Is Mr Segundus okay?” 

“He’ll be much better in the morning when hopefully we have some news. But you know doctors, John. I won’t sleep I wink, I feel.”

“And what do you advise for me?”

Dr Segundus smiled. 

“I'm not your doctor, so I can’t advise too much. But as John's mother, I would hope that you felt up to finding my son. August says you can help.”

“I’m trying.” 

From outside the door, August called her first name. Megan. Childermass realized he was slightly jealous of that familiarity, of John’s parents’ obvious acceptance of him. He had not been, in the short time they had been in the room together, invited to use her name and she would leave him as Dr Segundus. 

“I think it’s time for me to go. It was nice to meet you,” she said. “And I’m glad you’re well. Thank you for all you’ve done so far.”

As she reached the door, Childermass blurted out that she looked just like John and she stopped to look at him. It was true, but why he said it then, and so suddenly, he did not know. So much had happened in the last few days. To be here in the same room with John Segundus’ mother little over twenty four hours after being shot had overwhelmed him for a moment, that and the worry for the son of this petite woman with the long, gray hair. 

“Everyone says that,” said Dr Segundus. “Though I’m sorry he got my gray.” 

“No,” said Childermass. “It’s perfect.”

It had been a long time since Childermass blushed, but he did now. Dr Segundus smiled again. 

“I know what you mean, John. Let us know if you need anything.” 

He promised that he would and after the door closed, he sat up. The sleep had done him well and the gunshot wound hardly hurt him at all now. 

“August,” he called. “After you say goodbye, I want you come with me, please, if you don’t mind. I’d like to speak to Emma Pole.” 

“Do we need more lawyers?”

Childermass took off the borrowed shirt and began the work of removing his hasty bandage work.

“Sure. Anyone who might be able to get her out of prison.”

August poked his head into the room as Childermass put gauze to the hole in his chest. 

“I’ll text my friend Henry, then,” he said.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Segundus and Farah find themselves in a strange place. August and Childermass do their best to help return them home.

It was after midnight when the cab picked Childermass and August up from outside Stephen Black’s house. Dew had started to settle on the grass already in the damp and cool of the night. A fragrant rose bush planted by the front door, its blooms still tight and secreted in soft, pink arms, caught Childermass’ attention as they made their way to the car. He stopped to look at it, causing August to bump into him and nearly send him sprawling to the ground. 

“Oh, sorry John!” said August. He had reached out a hand to Childermass and now pulled it back. 

“My fault.”

Forty five years old and now he was noticing flowers. He grunted softly in annoyance at himself as they walked to the curb. 

“You don't drive?” asked Childermass. He looked slightly behind him to where August was walking quickly, trying to catch up.

“Neither John nor I do,” said August. He said it without any particular inflection, only realizing after what it might mean for a man not to know something like that about his boyfriend and he breathed a small ‘oh’ to himself. 

Childermass grunted again. Something new he'd learned. Childermass did not like learning things about John without him here. He did not like pity, even well intentioned pity from a nice person like August. Childermass shut the door of the cab with a hard thud and he shivered in the cold that had come down with the setting of the sun. 

August fell asleep in the cab, glasses pushed askance and his cheek on the window, and Childermass woke him when they arrived at the cafe where they were to meet Henry Lascelles, August’s friend. It was a large fare that August paid distractedly with a single bill from his wallet, unconcerned to receive change back. They walked to the front of the cafe. 

Rubbing his eyes, August peered in the window and said that Henry was not there yet. Easy to see as no one was expect for a frightfully young looking waiter who was painting his nails from a tub of orange polish. Childermass took out his cigarettes and lit one. He let his body rest against the side of the building and the feeling of cold brick made him shiver. 

“Would you mind?” 

“What?” asked Childermass.

“I…” August looked down at his shoes. Finally he dared a sheepish but longing glance at the cigarette in Childermass’ hand. “Can I have one?”

“A cigarette?”

“Well. Yes. Please? I'll pay you back.”

Childermass took out a cigarette from the pack and handed it to him. August took it with a note of starvation and lifted it to his lips. A small orange flame from the lighter. August shielded the cigarette from the light breeze with his spare hand. A circle of sunny light as it caught and the first breath brought it to life. August inhaled shakily. 

“Thanks.”

“Didn't know you smoked,” said Childermass, who had half expected the request for a cigarette to be a show of some sort, like posturing in a school yard, but instead saw before him a man who was clearly experienced with smoking and who loved it.

“I haven't in ages. Well, that's a lie. I quit when John and I were together. More or less. You know how it is. I started again after I moved out.”

Childermass could think of nothing to say. He filled his mouth with smoke so he wouldn’t have to speak again. 

“I really miss him,” mumbled August.

Exhaled smoke caught in a light fog. Childermass saw that tears had welled up in August's eyes. 

“I'm- August, listen. You're a nice guy. I get where you're coming from. But maybe…”

“Sorry. Sorry. You're right. I shouldn't be moping to you, of all people.”

Childermass handed him another cigarette.

“You don't need to be sorry. We can smoke, though.”

August did an admirable job of wiping his eyes discreetly after taking the cigarette and putting it in his pocket. 

They had just extinguished their second cigarettes when August waved to someone unseen by Childermass, someone approaching from behind him. 

The other John Childermass filled his consciousness for a moment and screamed again ‘no’ into his thoughts. Here and there his hearts pounded. He lifted, in two worlds, a hand to his cheek.

“Henry,” said August. “Hi.”

His scent arrived before he did. It was subtle, but it carried with the sound of his shoes on the pavement. Childermass did not like it. John was clean and smelled baths and shampoo, but this man, this Henry, was scented. He turned to see a tall and well dressed blond man approach. 

“Morning, Gus,” he said offhandedly to August, who was still waving, who blushed a little. 

Henry Lascelles managed a glance at his phone before truly looking up at August and Childermass. August was quick to step in. 

“This is John, he’s-” 

“I know who he is,” said Lascelles. “Let’s go inside. It’s gotten cold.” 

 

Two things have happened by the time Segundus wakes and finds himself seated at a table that is set with odd, cracked china and dirty silverware. 

The first is that his clothes are gone. He is dressed instead in a pearl colored silk shirt and tight breaches. Smart suede boots end at his ankles. The feeling is as disorienting as it is luxurious. He has never worn clothes this nice before and is disturbed by how wonderful they feel. He fidgets with the odds and ends of his attire while sitting at the large, over full table, with the bits of lace, fidgets with the cloth at his neck. 

The second thing that has happened is that Farah has been married to the dark haired man (dark haired being; with those teeth and that moon glow skin he is no man, that Segundus knows) that took them. Segundus has discerned this from his repeated, joyous cries praising his new wife. She trembles sitting next to him. Her clothes have been changed as well and she now wears a blue dress made of heavy material and jewels are draped at her neck and wrists. A crown sits on her thick, dark hair. 

“I wanted the two of you,” says the being, clearly pouting. He looks at Segundus and seems cheered by the sight of him in his new clothes and by the sip of wine he takes as he appraises. His mouth is left a predatory red. 

“What?” asks Segundus. 

“You and the other John Segundus.” He adjusts a lace ruff at Segundus’ wrist. “I thought a pair would be nice. You could amuse me and keep my queen company. I could show you off to my brothers. Two of the same magician! Two of John Segundus! I was going to make you duel.” 

Segundus swallows painfully. The man picks up a leg of roasted meat of some sort and bites into it.

“I had gone to retrieve him,” says the man (not a man), still chewing, “but the ragamuffin interfered.”

“John?” asks Segundus. 

“I don't know his name,” the man-like thing snaps, sending a scrap of meat to the table. Segundus notices for the first time that the tablecloth is heavily stained with grease. “But he did magic and now I only have one of you.” 

His shoulders slump and he continues to chew, muttering ‘ragamuffin’ to himself. He wipes his mouth with the sleeve of his velvet jacket, smearing fat across his lips. 

Segundus sighs. He feels relieved that the other John Segundus has been spared but is not at all sure that he should. He wants so badly to sleep again, but he is terrified for Farah, who is now having her hand petted. The movement is surprisingly gentle, but the being has long fingernails that it chills Segundus to see so close to skin. 

“You miss your father, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she says, her voice, to Segundus, incredibly steady. She holds her head high and her profile pleases their captor. He tilts his head, admiring her. 

“I wish I could help, but he is spoken for. I cannot bring him here to you.”

Here the man erupts in a gleeful laugh. 

“What a good joke it is that I have you! What a good joke! My cousin will be so angry. He and his family love to talk about how useless I am, but this will show them. A beautiful bride from the honored Black family and Jonathan Strange’s own protege, Mr Segundus of the Starecross School.”

In celebration of this, he pours Farah a glass of wine. 

“I'm...I’m neither of things,” protests Segundus. “I don't know what Starecross is. I'm not Jonathan’s protege.”

“Of course you are. You wrote a book about the man.”

Segundus opens his mouth but closes it again at a dark look from the long limbed thing across the table.

“Let's have a good time,” he purrs. He pours a second glass of wine for Segundus. 

Segundus tries to move his arms and he cannot. He is strapped invisibly where he sits, unable to do a thing as his hair is brushed back from his face. Their captor runs his hands through Segundus’ hair. Fingernails scratch his scalp. The being’s greasy hands leave his hair slick. He lifts the glass to Segundus’ lips and tilts until wine slides down his throat.

“Remember that we have a deal,” says Farah. The other man frowns as he puts the wine glass down, but Segundus feels the pressure at his wrists lessen. He is left with a phantom feeling of heat against his skin. 

“Who are you?” asked Segundus. 

The being’s dark eyebrows knit together. There was a clatter as he threw down a large bone that had once been attached to the portion of meat he was eating and it hit one of the china dishes. Segundus jumps at that and then again as the stuffy fire in the room settled and pops. Farah remains calm. 

“You don’t know who I am? What is the education of English magicians where you are from?” 

This catches Farah’s attention and she turns her eyes to Segundus. 

“We- we don’t have any. I’ve only been a magician for a few days. John taught me.” 

“I will have you know that I am a king. Miss Black is my queen and you…” 

He grins with his sharp teeth. He leans forward and breathes against Segundus’ neck. 

“You, John Segundus, are my court magician. Isn’t it lovely? You’re far too old for me to make a John Uskglass of you, but I think you have potential.”

Segundus and Farah meet eyes briefly. 

“Your name?” Segundus asks. “As your court magician, may I ask?” 

The fairy smiles again. 

“Solomon Violet.”

 

August was the only one to order food once they were seated at their table. Childermass stuck to coffee and Henry Lascelles ordered nothing, choosing instead to sit in front of a cup of water and occasionally look down at the slowly melting ice cubes with disdain. August sat next to Childermass eating heavily buttered toast and making most of the conversation. 

“John? John, do you think that helping Mrs Pole is going to do anything for Farah and John? Our John, I mean. Not you.”

“Can't hurt,” said Childermass. He did not want his coffee any more and sunk cubes of sugar into the last half of the cup. Somehow, it was a pleasure to watch them sink and dissolve. “And I know John wouldn't want her there either.”

Childermass couldn’t quite admit that this was also the only thing at all he could think of. 

“Oh, that's true,” said August. He couldn't suppress a yawn any longer. 

The blond man peered down at his phone again and frowned at something on the screen. 

“I'm tired, Gus,” he said without looking up. “Let's get on with this. She's not in danger or anything at the moment, so I'm going to make a few calls and go over in the morning. If there's something I can do, that is.”

“We can't spare her a night in jail?” asked Childermass. He tried to make eye contact with Henry Lascelles, who refused to participate in this venture and kept his attention on his phone. 

“No. Not at this late hour. We’ll get to work in the morning.”

August thanked his friend profusely while Childermass tapped the table. An agitated little rhythm. 

“Ever spent a night in jail, Henry?”

“Obviously not,” said Lascelles. He finally looked up at Childermass. 

August yawned again. He became aware of the tension at the table halfway through it and sat looking between the two other men, his mouth open.

“I think it's time we all got home,” said Childermass.

“Agreed,” said Lascelles. He stood and nodded briefly at the other two men before leaving. He appeared briefly in the window opposite them before turning a corner and disappearing, breaking some sort of hold on the table. August scrambled from his chair to pay the bill before Childermass could say anything. He paused when he returned to the table. He had about him the faux reluctant air of someone who has a secret he desperately wanted to tell, or of a person with a question they want to be asked. Childermass was too tired not to comply. 

“What is it?”

“Well, you're going to think I'm ridiculous, but I can't face going back home. Flatmates I hardly know, dumb single bed.”

Childermass ran his hands through his hair. Sending August home firmly was not something he had the energy for. 

“I don't live far from here, actually. If it would help, you can have my sofa for the night. Though honestly, August, you hardly know me either and it’s not a great sofa.”

“Really? I can stay?”

“Really. It will make the morning easier too, I suppose, if we go to see Emma Pole.”

For a moment, Childermass greatly feared being hugged, but it did not happen. The only thanks was a huge smile. 

“I might hardly know you,” August said, “but I do feel we get along a bit.”

Once they were walking, August zipped his coat tight against him and followed Childermass closely. He pulled out his last borrowed cigarette and Childermass produced his lighter. That out, it was impossible for him not to take a cigarette of his own and he did. He slowed down his walking so that August wouldn’t have to rush and together they walked toward Childermass’ flat. 

“You like this Lascelles guy, don't you?” asked Childermass as they walked. August sputtered smoke.

“I mean-”

“There's nothing wrong with it. You’re a single man, Gus.”

August sighed in relief. The blush only arrived after he realized he was being lightly teased. 

“When John and I were together, you know...but I think maybe I do like him. But it’s so hard to admit that! What do you think? He's very handsome, isn't he? Very confident.”

“He's a bit chilly for my liking.”

August’s face fell, obviously wounded. 

“Well, compared to John, maybe. John could make a kindergarten teacher look like Dolores Umbridge, though.”

“Or Agatha Trunchbull.” 

There was a short pause and then August laughed, falling against Childermass a little and patting him on the arm. 

“Oh, that’s good!” he said, wheezing a little and coughing smoke. 

At Childermass’ apartment, he retrieved a spare blanket and pillow just in time to see August fall asleep on his sofa, his glasses still on. Childermass covered him and left the pillow near August’s head. This would have much more off, thought Childermass, if August hadn't so quickly inspired somewhat of a younger brotherly feeling in him.

Now that the flat was peaceful, he got out his basin and hoped to find the man with his face and name that lived a world away.

 

They have been left alone while their captor goes to prepare a party in their honor and though Segundus still finds the magic debilitating, he is at least able to move with Solomon Violet out of the room and whatever magic he had done over Segundus is lifted momentarily. Segundus lies his head down on the table. Farah curses. 

“Weirdest thing that has ever happened to me and that is saying something,” she says. “You okay?” 

“Not really.” 

Segundus brings his head up. A piece of meat has stuck onto the skin of his forehead and he pulls it off and flicks it into a glass of wine. It floats in an oily pool and bobs for a moment before sinking. Farah has begun to take off the jewelry laid on her and set it down with obvious distaste. 

“So, you really are a...magician?” 

“I guess.” 

She accepts this with a shrug, rubbing her temples. Segundus is glad she doesn’t ask for proof of some sort. 

“What did he mean that there are two of you?” 

“1821,” mumbles Segundus. He pulls listlessly at the cravat at his neck. “They have a cat named Benedick. I don't really know how it works.”

Farah considers this odd remark and doesn’t ask any more question. Her jewelry now off, she leans back in the plush chair and fluffs her hair. 

“What did you mean that you and he have a deal?” asks Segundus, feeling he's owed a query of his own. Then two.

“Why did you marry him, Farah?”

Farah chooses not to answer either of these questions. Segundus sighs again. There is no energy for anything else. He is making little headway with the intricately tied cloth at his throats and the magic of the room is is vice on him, ever squeezing.

“I’m sorry to say, But I think your father is in trouble,” he says. He manages finally to remove the cravat and lets it fall to the table. He isn’t sure how much longer his own consciousness is going to last. 

“I had gathered.” 

He sits still for a moment, his eyes closed, trying to create a connection with the other John Segundus, but nothing happens. He puts his head down on the table again with a groan. 

“Get it together,” says Farah. “This isn’t the Junior Chamber of Commerce, John. We’ve got to find a way out of here.” 

Solomon Violet sings as he reenters the room. 

“It is time you were shown to your quarters and made ready for the evening.”

A long look. Farah and Segundus stand together. 

It's only a moment. Only a stirring. There are two magics. One of Solomon Violet’s house, smoky and oily, and one, only for a moment, that he knows is John Childermass’, done over him in the other world. He is shocked at the feeling, too shocked to do anything at first. This is John’s magic and he thrills to feel it, but it is dark, much darker than any magic he has ever felt his John do. He wants to stop and drink it in, but he does not. He gathers himself. The brief moment with the other Segundus he uses to call out the name of their captor into his mind.

“Come, magician,” says Solomon Violet. 

He and Farah follow the fairy from the room, staying close to each other. Solomon Violet is a head or more in height above either of them. His hair has the dark gloss of an oil slick and it is pulled back with a dirty ribbon. They ascend a crumbling staircase. 

Segundus is shown to his room first. He does not want to be separated from Farah or to leave her with Solomon Violet, but she stares at him firmly until he goes into the large room and allows the door to be shut. Segundus turns and surveys his new accommodations.

The walls to the farthest end of the room are covered in vines. The leaves have a plasticine and dead look them. A few fat berries are scattered, half rotten looking things. A missing portion of the ceiling lets in moonlight that has a purplish glow, a glow like the burn from ice left too long against skin. The carpet is worn away in large holes.Through one close to his feet, Segundus can see clear through to the room below him. Segundus walks to the bed and sits down it. Across the room, his reflection does the same in a cracked mirror; a large mirror taller even than he is, surrounded by a flaking frame of gold. New clothes have been laid out for him; an old fashioned suit in gray. He lets his head fall into his hands and brings all the magic in can to the front of his mind. 

 

The moment before the magical connection was established between them, he felt himself as the other John Childermass for a moment. He shivered. The room was so cold; a window above the bed cracked open to combat the sweat John lay in. His heart beat dangerously fast, but John’s hand was in his. John’s hand was in his. It was soft and warm, his palm pressed against the other Childermass’. John’s pulse fluttered against their fingers. Childermass carried the feeling with him when the vision broke and he looked down into the water at himself. 

“Go away,” said the other John Childermass. 

“John has been taken, as well as an innocent woman. I need your help.” 

“I know that. Do you not think I want him safe and returned to you, and the lady with her family? There’s nothing I can do though.” 

“You did that magic. To the John over there. The magic that left him like that.” 

Fire lit behind the eyes of the other Childermass. 

“I saved him,” he said. “And where you when John was taken in your world, sir?”

Childermass huffed.

“You forget we've been in each other's minds. I know we stepped in front of the same bullet.”

“Go away,” said the Childermass on the other side of the water. He waved his hand and was gone. 

It was 2:00 now. Sleep was the only option. It was easy to have the magic done on him in his sleep, but to do it on his own was an exercise that left him depleted. 

Childermass set the water aside and laid down. There were crumbs on his bed, crumbs from where he and John had eaten breakfast together only a few days before. He hated sleeping with any sort of clothes on, but was too tired to even undress. He closed his eyes. The room was permeated with his own magic. He spent his last waking moment trying to find a drop of John’s left in the current of his. 

His sleep was empty. 

The smell of coffee woke him. It was only 6:00 he saw as he rolled over. He was angry. The other John Childermass could have come to him during the night, but he knew it was purposeful that he had not. He only had time to sit up before there was a knock on the door. 

“Morning, August. Come in.” 

August did. He carried with him a cup of coffee for Childermass. 

“I hope you don’t mind. Henry called. He said to come down by 8:00. He’ll see what we can do.” 

“You’re fine,” muttered Childermass. He took the coffee, which was light and, as the first sip told, heavily sweetened. Not his thing, but his exhaustion was such that he managed nearly a quarter of the cup in the minute August stood hovering by his bed. 

“I…Is the coffee good? I saw last night at the cafe. You put sugar in yours.” 

The usual amiability of August was worn down. He did not leave and did not look Childermass in the eye. 

“Is there something you need, August?” 

“John’s toothbrush is in your bathroom.” 

The room went quiet. August knit his hands in front him. Heartbreak was clear on his face and it pained Childermass to see it. Childermass knew he did not deserve anger, but felt it would be preferable to this. 

“I never thought. I guess I should have. He was here. With you.”

He skittered from the room before Childermass could say anything else. 

The day was not off to a great start. 

 

The magic has not produced anything, so he dresses in the clothes Solomon Violet has chosen for him to wear.

He remains the victim of the magic of this place, helpless to do anything but struggle into these clothes and he has never been as frustrated by anything in his life. 

Slowly, he changes one piece of clothing for another. How silly he feels as he begins to dream of John as he does; of John bursting into the room, of John bringing rejuvenating magic that will let him breath, of John putting an arm around him and helping him up, taking him from here. He gives himself a flimsy reminder that he is thirty five years old and a doctor, but it does nothing to take the passion from the fantasy of being reunited with John. If anything, he becomes more stubborn doing up pearl buttons on his jacket and imagines a hot bath and cup of tea with John when he is home. 

Segundus turns to the mirror after he is dressed. Something there catches his attention, like a shadow gone feline rushing away. 

Segundus walks across the room. He puts his hand to the mirror. 

The glass is warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't mean for Solomon Violet to turn into Dr. Frakenfurter, but once I realized it, I had a great excuse to play my favorite game and slip a quote from the Rocky Horror Picture show in.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Segundus and Farah experience their first evening in the strange house of Solomon Violet.   
> Childermass huffs and puffs.

Touching the glass gives Segundus a shiver that reaches deeply inside him, sending ripples once the magic looses his stomach from its grip. 

He runs a finger along the velvety surface of the mirror again. The feeling, exquisite at first, begins to unnerve him quickly. He draws his hand away and as he does, there is a sensation like a breeze from behind the glass. It's an icy thing, weak as a kitten’s first breath, and it calls to him. It knows his name and it makes promises.

Before he can think about what he is doing, Segundus has shoved his hand through the surface of the mirror, not entirely surprised that the action is a success. There is no shattering. There is nothing hard at all. His hand slips through as easily as if it is water. It is like a winter afternoon behind the glass and he yelps and pulls back. That he did not expect. The cold still stings his skin as he stands looking down at his hand. 

“John Segundus?”

He turns to see Solomon Violet standing in the door to his room, in the process of shutting it. He wears a long, thin dressing robe of robin’s egg blue, wine dribbled down the front, and that only. Its tattered hems hang at his knees.

“You look very well in your new clothes,” says Solomon Violet.

Segundus refuses resolutely to thank him either for the clothes or the complement. This does not go unnoticed by Solomon.

“Well, don't be angry at me.”

Solomon tucks his hair behind his ear with a nervous move. His large gray eyes trained mostly down on his feet but for a few glances up, he inches toward Segundus. He seems not so much a predator now, but rather spinster-like despite his appearance of youth and beauty.

“And why shouldn't I be angry?” Segundus asks. “Is Farah alright?”

“My queen sleeps before tonight’s revelry. I left her to go change into my own chosen garments and to see how you fared.”

Solomon reaches to touch Segundus’ shoulder.

“How well you look,” he says again.

Segundus fills with a fog in the presence of the fairy, a rosy, fragrant one. It's so potent he nearly sneezes. He has felt enough magic since meeting John that he knows the feeling of it, even a magic so different from what he's known until now. It has been a feeling he missed and he wonders how this is so much different from the magic he has felt before here. The experience weakens him as it soothes. 

Solomon wraps the tie of his robe around his finger and moves closer. He allows his want free expression as his eyes travel over Segundus.

Segundus realizes that in spite of his total helplessness, that distracting and satiating Solomon Violet is the one thing he can do to help Farah. The magic continues to work on him and he lets himself get dizzy on it. For the first time since arriving here he is warm. 

Segundus allows himself to be petted and Solomon moves closer, sighing with pleasure. He touches Segundus’ hair and pries the pearl buttons of his jacket from their places.

“The ragamuffin is a lucky man. I hate him.”

Solomon Violet kisses him and Segundus’ blood loses all that is earthly, making him feel weightless. The magic seeping into him leaves him blissful with its thorniness and wildness. He had expected cold from the fairy but instead finds the lips and body pressed against him pleasantly warm.

“You do not protest?”

“No,” says Segundus. He forces himself to think clearly if only for this moment, to look the fairy in the eye and make himself known. “But if I am with you, you must not touch Miss Black tonight.”

Solomon nuzzles his neck and works at untucking Segundus’ shirt.

“I am a king,” says Solomon Violet. “You do not tell me whom and whom not I touch.”

Segundus takes the fairy’s hand. He moves his head to expose more of his skin and presses himself against Solomon.

“Oh, very well,” Solomon says. 

Their lips meet again. The magic of the encounter is strong and Segundus needs to hold to the flimsy gown Solomon wears to keep standing as Solomon kisses him.

“I can taste him on you,” says Solomon. “How wonderful. Why do not all magicians pair like the two of you?”

At that Segundus lets go and forcing a second clear thought to his mind with much difficulty, leads them to the bed. Solomon falls on top of him, dropping his gown to the floor. His body is long. His hipbones are graceful and prominent. He crawls on top of Segundus and is much lighter than expected, hardly anything at all.

“Oh, it's been so long since I've had a human man,” growls Solomon. “You are so very diverting. Lie still.”

Segundus complies, his eyes closed, so diluted with magic that he is sure he sweats it.

“I can change my appearance, you know. What do you say? I would hate it, I think, but would you like me to look like him? Would you like me to come to you as Childermass ragamuffin?”

“Please no!” says Segundus, eyes squeezed shut, fearful of looking up and seeing John where John is not.

“He is written all over you,” says a voice with a Yorkshire accent. The weight on him increases. The smell of cigarette smoke.

“No!”

It is gone then, all of the faux John that Solomon had created. Solomon Violet's body is once again feather light against him. The only smell is wine and an oddly floral sweat. Slowly, Segundus’ heart begins to calm again. 

"It is your choice, Mr Segundus."

He allows himself to open his eyes then. Loose curls hang down in front of Solomon’s face. The fairy’s body doesn't pink like a human’s with blood running through it, but stays an unblemished, pale canvas. Solomon is so much human in his form that Segundus needs to remind himself that this is not at all what he is.

“You must calm down,” says Solomon. He sits gingerly on Segundus’ stomach and strokes his face. “You're writhing like a half dead fish. Dear me, I didn't know you'd take a such a fright at my trick.”

He kisses Segundus, neck, mouth, and the newly exposed triangle of skin at his chest, and presses him against the mattress. Feathers poke into his back from the filling. It’s a thing that makes him think of his other life. He and John must have spent many nights on mattresses similar to this one there. Only a few days ago a vision would have come to him and he would have felt the thing for himself. He is sure of it. The thread that links him to his other life is now cut, however, and he is here a half formed John Segundus. 

It seems only a blinking of his eye before he is naked and his body is being gently contorted into a position desirable to his new lover, who murmurs pleasantries.There is nothing exactly unpleasant about anything that happens to him; the magic Solomon produces now is sweet to the point of intoxication and though a he is commanding presence, Segundus is not ill used by used by him. It is only sadness that he feels. And guilt, though he knows that wrong is not exactly the word for what he does or the enjoyment that slips in with the touches and kisses. I was always meant to mix love and magic, he thinks. But not like this. They are John’s.

Segundus spends a last moment trying to rally his own magic. He wonders if it his imagination that the cold of the room feels different for a moment, like something closer to home. Hay. He is sure there is the smell of hay. He grabs at it and clings to it, trying to bring the image to him fully. There is nothing but that rouge scent though, which he is not at all sure was true and not something he imagined. Then he is the fairy’s.

 

For a moment, Childermass sat in the quiet of his bedroom, his eyes closed. He set his cup of coffee on the table beside him and watched the milky ripples as the liquid settled again. He thought he felt a bit of John’s magic hiding under the bed and was briefly hopeful and energized. The feeling passed too quickly and he was left as he was; slightly sweaty from the warmth of the morning and his clothes. When he stood, he knocked over the basin of water he had used the night before to contact his other self. Cold water fell over his feet and he left a trail of footprints as he followed August to the living room. 

August sat on his sofa, his head in his hands. He lifted it when he heard Childermass enter. 

“I’ve made a scene,” he muttered. 

“A bit,” said Childermass, sitting down next to him. “But it’s alright.”

“Sorry.” 

August was quick to compose himself enough to look Childermass in the face again. Childermass couldn’t help but admire how steady he’d become in just a few moments, how hard he was trying. Not knowing what else to do, and certainly not having the words for to tell August anything he thought in the moment, he reached for the pack of cigarettes on the table and handed one to him. Even without words, it was obvious the gesture was understood and August relaxed twisting the cigarette in his fingers. 

“I love him, August,” said Childermass. “And, God, I think he loves me. If that’s hard for you, I don’t hold it against you.” 

“Of course it’s hard. But I got myself here all on my own.”

August stared down at the cigarette and subtly wiped his nose with the back of his free hand. 

“I can’t even console myself with the thought of what might have been if I hadn’t left. Because it’s so obvious John wouldn’t have been happy with me. Or as happy. Things really were nice. They were, I swear.”

“I know they were, August.” 

He wanted to tell August about the magic. August needed an explanation for his pain, or if he didn’t need it exactly, Childermass felt he was more than decent enough to deserve one. He wanted to explain to him how their magics joined up, how they blossomed in each other’s presence like each man was sun with his own heat to make it grow in the other. He wanted to tell about they had found each other in another place too and what it felt like to kiss John, a different John that was still his, on a cold spring night in Yorkshire in a room where they hid their love from the world. There’s no place he is that I am not, he thought. As he thought it, he knew it was the truth. He sat too long though, thinking of the words he wanted to say that might help August understand. 

“You know I’m right,” said August. 

All he could do was to shrug and hope he wasn't being too unkind. 

“I love him,” Childermass repeated. 

At that, he found it. John’s green magic was there and it settled in his chest. At that, the blossom of magic he had thought of earlier found its place and it filled him. His mouth dropped open.

“John?” asked August. 

He touched Childermass’ hand. 

The visions were a white snap. Horses, moors, icy rooms, John pressed against him in a stable clutching clutching his dirty coat. We will be seen, John breathed into his ear, trembling with fear even as he arched toward Childermass and moved his hands to the fastening of his breeches. On his knees in the stable in front of John, who had shoved his cravat into his mouth to keep from screaming. They stood together in front of Emma Pole, hands clasped, doing magic. John in the large canopy bed with a leg wrapped around him, his heel pressed into Childermass’ ribs, as Childermass nuzzled between his legs. The magic they had done on Lady Pole, a Lady here, was still a shadow clinging to them. John cried in his arms. Sitting in front of each other on the bed, their hands met on knees, an incantation lively in the air. A whole life in this blur. And Stephen Black was there. Stephen Black in the home of Walter Pole. Stephen Black at Starecross, a rose at his mouth. 

August shouted at the electric touch and the magic flared. Like August was a target, it turned to him with a hunter’s eye. Childermass saw the magic wrap around him and the tendrils of magic grow thorns and dig in. August frantically searched his body for some indication of what happened to him, but Childermass knew he saw nothing. 

“No,” August said, waving his hands in front of him. He clawed at his chest. His breathing had quickly become little more than a rasp. “No, no, no.” 

Childermass jumped from the sofa and took August by the shoulders, looking down into his face filled with fear. 

“I don’t know what’s happened.” 

“Take it off me!” 

August clawed at his skin and Childermass hurried, doing the only thing he could, which was speak to the magic. Let him go. What are you doing? Stop. 

The magic spoke back. He is not real. Not real. 

And Childermass told the magic no again. 

Confused, the magic curled back to Childermass. It wrapped around his wrist. For him, it was the most natural feeling he could imagine and the magic was content as it met his skin and looked for approval from him. 

You are in the wrong place, Childermass explained. Go home to the other one. I’m not your master.

Not him, whispered the magic. Childermass was not sure if the magic spoke of him or of August. But at his command, the magic loosed its hold over its captive and August, panting, looked at his chest in relief as he was released from the sensation. Slowly, he stopped his struggle and his flailing tapered off. 

The magic dragged itself from August and began, a bit petulantly, to dig and slink until it was almost gone. August sat on the sofa sobbing. 

“I’m so sorry,” said Childermass. He moved to touch August’s arm but the recoil that met him forced him to draw back. The magic in the room did its last sneaking away down through the floorboards and John Childermass was one lone man again, uncoiled from his other self. The bit of John’s magic had stayed though, a dull pulse. 

“Why was Uncle Stephen there? What had happened to him?”

“I don’t know,” said Childermass. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened.” 

A mantra. It rang and rang. He didn’t know what happened. Sorry. Sorry. 

“I don’t belong,” said August. 

Childermass noticed then that August had snapped the cigarette in half and that tobacco was scattered on the couch and floor. 

“What?”

“That’s what I heard. I don’t belong. What does it mean?” 

“I don’t know.”

August continued to cry for several more minutes. 

Childermass sat next to his friend in quiet until the moment of fear passed and then he went into his kitchen and made him a cup of tea. August took it and sat drinking it for a long time and there were no more words until they left together to go meet Henry Lascelles. 

 

Solomon pulls back on his robe and Segundus curls onto his side on the bed. 

“The party begins soon. You’ll need to dress, my magician.”

Segundus nods. Solomon’s magic has begun to drain from him, leaving him deflated and clear headed, which he does not want to be as he looks around the room, lit shimmery argentine from the hole in the roof, and down his own body. Solomon Violet titters excitedly, speaking nonsense about his party that Segundus does not really pay attention to. The fairy gathers his hair into a knot at his neck and pulls his legs to sit cross legged on the bed. 

“Can you do tricks for my guests? All of my brothers will be here this evening.” 

“No,” says Segundus. 

The fairy rolls his eyes. He seems poised to be annoyed with Segundus but instead sighs in content observing his still naked body. He runs a finger along Segundus’ rib.

“I do not know what you have to complain about. Was I not kind to you? I am never overly forceful like some of my kin. I have never taken what was not given to me. Why, I love love, Mr Segundus! Please do not pout so.” 

“I’m not complaining. And I’m not pouting. I just can’t do magic for you. Or your brothers.” 

Solomon stands from the bed and places a kiss on Segundus’ cheek. 

“Perhaps, in time.” 

Segundus does not answer and Solomon leaves the room. As happens so often, he sings as he does so. Segundus continues to lie still. He focuses on the trail from the bed to the door, wondering if he can see any of the fairy’s magic, but it is not visible to him. 

Music has started downstairs, each instrument sounding like it’s playing a different song from a different time. Each sounding like it’s in a different state of decay. Segundus looks up at the mirror. It has stilled again. Died, he thinks. He knows the mirror was alive for him in that moment earlier when he put his hand through it and felt what was on the other side. There are no roaming shadows. Segundus makes himself sit up and he reaches for his clothes. 

So close, he thinks. A pearl button slides back into place. He glances over again at the mirror. Somehow, he was so close to something there for a moment before the fairy came in. Now he is not sure he will ever regain it. 

He dresses hardly noticing his own actions as he finishes putting on his clothes. A walk to the mirror, another touch, is something that he has to do before he leaves. The glass is cold as he stands with his palm pressed against it, as he knows it would be. He stands in front of the mirror for another hopeful second before following the sound of the music. He stands waiting for the change, for the giving way of the mirror. Be a magician, John, he tells himself. But he sees nothing more than a thin man, tired looking, dressed well and in need of a shave. He feels so alone here, so empty of the fire he felt in John’s presence and with John in his arms. He has not had any connection with the other Segundus and without it he can’t help but not feel whole. 

Home. He is sure he was so close when he felt the mirror give way to going home. 

Despite the size of Solomon Violet’s house, the ballroom is not hard for him to find. The room is marbled, half rotted tapestries hung on on the wall, and it is filled with many fairies and some humans, loveliness of all forms represented, with scarily vacant expressions on their faces. Segundus has only a moment to observe the sparkle of many jewels and the flutter of costumes made of so many different fabrics. 

Segundus is glad to see Farah standing tall on the other side of the room, her usual sharpness present in her eyes. She nods to Segundus and he nods back. The comfort he gets from seeing her well spreads far in him and eases some of his malaise.

As Segundus steps further into the room, Solomon notices him and he claps his hands and the room stills. All faces turn to the fairy. 

“Brothers and sisters. Consorts and lovers. My own dear Queen, noble daughter of King Stephen himself. It is my greatest pleasure to present Professor John Segundus, master of Starecross and holder of English magic.” 

The room nearly bursts into applause as Segundus breathes ‘I’m a doctor’ to himself but Solomon Violet stops it with a terse wave of his hand and a scowl. 

“One of him. There’s another, too. Anyway, I have this one. Aren’t I clever?” 

He allows the applause now and the room stirs with the cacophony of it. The music begins again as the guests stop their clapping and turn to each other again. The chatter that follows sounds like it is of many different languages.

Solomon approaches Segundus with a flute of a bubbling pale drink in his hand. 

“Enjoy yourself, Mr Segundus. This is in part a celebration of you.” 

Segundus takes the glass from Solomon’s hand but he does not drink. Around the room, the guests are engaged in a complicated dance. Segundus wishes he could shield himself from the fairy’s magic as he feels it against him, but he cannot conjure anything to help him. He finds himself staring at one of the tapestries, one he thinks once showed a man on a horse, another figure reaching up to him.

“May I visit you again, my dearest?” asks Solomon. He stands so close to Segundus that his nose is practically behind Segundus’ ear. “I find I cannot stop thinking of the sweetness of your body, unassuming as it is.” 

“Thanks,” mutters Segundus. Solomon Violet toys with Segundus’ cravat.

“I admit that I am fascinated. I have never had a magician before and it appeals to me that I might have John Segundus as an official paramore.” 

Segundus looks across the room at Farah and his heart begins to speed. One night. That was what he bought her. But still, a yes doesn’t come easily. 

“You know I love someone else,” says Segundus.

“Oh, Mr Segundus, don't think of him. I promise you have seen your husband for the last time.”

Bubbles from the drink tickle Segundus’ nose. He focuses so much on Solomon’s proclamation that a single word very nearly misses him. 

“Husband?”

 

Childermass left the prison with Henry Lascelles. 

August was where Childermass had left him; sitting on the front steps. The coffee August had bought sat nestled between his feet and his head wavered in his dozing. He looked, in that moment, far too young for all of this, far too young to have even been engaged to John. Lascelles stopped to check his phone and Childermass took out a cigarette. 

“I thought you were the boyfriend of that man who disappeared,” said Lascelles. He deigned to look up from his screen. “Gus’s dowdy ex.” 

Childermass rolled his eyes. 

“What about it?”

 

“You spent the night with August.” 

“I did not so such thing,” said Childermass without taking the cigarette from his mouth and letting the smoke dribble out with his words. “Not that it’s any of your business.” 

“When I called at quarter to six, he said he’d have to wake you. He’s in the same clothes as yesterday.” 

“Very nice. You’re in entirely the wrong profession with those detecting skills. He slept on the couch. Once again, not that’s it’s your business. Unless you want to ask him out, that is.”

Lascelles took a pair of expensive looking sunglasses from his briefcase and sent another text after putting them on. Childermass had the feeling he was supposed to be intimidated by this. 

“You guys would make a terrible couple,” said Lascelles. He moved pointedly away from a cloud of Childermass’ smoke.

“Agreed. Good thing we’re not sleeping together, then.”

August twitched as he woke and turned at the sound of their voices. He jumped to his feet, spilling his coffee, and scrambled up the steps to get to Childermass and Lascelles. 

“John! Henry! How did it go?”

“Emma will be on her way home this afternoon,” said Childermass. “Your friend is a good lawyer.” 

Lascelles put his phone back in his pocket. 

“It fills the time,” he said. 

The three men were quiet for a moment. Childermass was happy to focus on his cigarette and let the sun warm his face. August shook coffee from his shoes.

“I’m going to lunch,” proclaimed Lascelles. 

“Great,” said Childermass flatly. Still, he smoked. He hoped that if he smoked enough the smell of Lascelles’ cologne wouldn’t trail him. 

“August.” 

The word acted as Lascelles’ only concession to an invitation. August looked up at Childermass and Childermass shrugged. 

“Okay,” said August. A huge smile formed on his face. “Okay. Where to? What will we have?” 

“Steak,” said Lascelles. “My car is around the corner. Let’s go. I have a meeting at 2:00. Do you have a tie? Nevermind, there’s a spare in my glove compartment.” 

Lascelles began to walk away. August waved to Childermass as he followed and gave a thumbs up as he turned to catch up to Lascelles, asking a stream of questions about what had gone on in the prison. Childermass finished his cigarette and sent August a text telling him to have a good time. No accounting for taste, he thought. 

Childermass took the Tube back home and fell asleep almost the second he sat down. He woke at the stop before his. The world annoyed him. There was a time four hours of sleep would have been more than enough but now he was exhausted. Old and exhausted and in pain. The other Childermass had still not been in communication either and there had been no visions. His heart was filled with the fear that the other John had died from the effects of the magic done on him by the Childermass in that world. He felt the same fear that his John and Farah Black had met that fate as well wherever they were. The thought of living outside of this odd foursome, outside of the reach of John’s magic, now terrified him. Most of all he hated that he had done next to nothing so far for them. Emma Pole was going to await her trial at home, at least, but Henry Lascelles had done all of the work for that. And done it it while wearing a suit that cost more than Childermass made in a month. Childermass had done nothing but nearly kill a man by accident with magic this morning. Useless elderly magician stroke nurse going home to take a nap after shouting at a bowl of water, he thought to himself. 

He took the long walk from the stop, smoking heavily, trying to rid himself of the image of Emma Pole in prison, trying to make the other John Childermass pay attention him by thinking very intently at him. Neither thing worked. He stopped to pick up fish and chips for himself a block away when he realized how long it had been since he had eaten. 

Childermass approached his flat and saw sitting outside of his door a slight man with dark hair and large blue eyes. He stood quickly when he saw Childermass, who was caught with a chip in his mouth. 

“John Childermass?” asked the man. 

American. 

“Yeah.”

“Where the hell is Farah?”

Childermass reached for the key in his pocket and ate another chip in agitation. Something about how small and cute this man was put him off in his current self pitying mood. 

“Great question. If I knew the answer, do you think I’d be here? No. I’d be retrieving her and John Segundus or perhaps asleep with my boyfriend if I were very talented and had already brought them home. But I'm not. I'm useless.”

The man blinked at him a few times in confusion at this speech.

“Well.”

“Listen, unless you have a TARDIS or something similar that might allow me to go yell at another version of myself living in the nineteenth century, you're not much use to me and I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” 

The American man frowns.

“Oh. It’s a time machine you need?”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time travel, etc.

“Your husband,” says Solomon Violet. He drops Segundus’ cravat, raising an eyebrow. “John Childermass. Ragamuffin extraordinaire.”

“But I'm not married. We’re not married.”

“Of course you are.”

Segundus looks down at his reflection in the drink he holds, his face surrounded by the dying bubbles popping in the glass. 

“You keep saying that…”

Solomon puts one hand on his slender hip and the other, he waves at Segundus, sloshing his own drink around. 

“You, Mr Segundus, are a mess of magical bindings that say as clear as day that you are in eternal, devoted partnership with him. It's really a bit excessive and showy. Why, your heart is actually encased. I think you'd remember magic that powerful.”

Segundus’ head hurts. The music and magic have burrowed in and exhausted him. A fairy woman, small and light haired, swings by with a dead eyed human man on her arm. His clothes are in the same style as Segundus’, but tattered, and his thick hair is a bit matted, giving him the air of a neglected pet. Segundus hand travels to his chest, where the fairy says John’s magic lives, as he watches the two dance away. 

“I would like to go to bed now,” says Segundus, trying his hardest to not crumple where he stands in defeat. 

“Of course.” Solomon brushes a lock of Segundus’ hair from his face, leaving a touch of magical heat at his temples. “But may I have an answer? Can I return to you?”

“In the morning,” says Segundus. “And remember our deal.”

He hands the drink to Solomon and steps back into the doorway. He catches Farah’s eye before he leaves and she takes a step toward him, but a crowd of dancers moves in her way. He shakes his head and turns to the stairs.

In his room, Segundus undresses, leaving the fine clothes supplied by Solomon Violet on the floor, a gray and silken puddle, an act of defiance that he knows will remain personally fulfilling and only that. No sleeping garments have been left, so he lies down in the bed nude. 

Though the sounds from the party carry up the stairs easily, he hears the rustle from under the bed and the soft meow well before the enormous gray cat puts a paw onto the side of the bed and he turns toward it. A head and ears then appear and the cat jumps into the bed and curls next to Segundus with immediate familiarity and a loud purr. 

Segundus feels within seconds that he knows this creature though they have never met. He is so relieved at this sign, warm beside him in the bed and pawing at his bare chest, that he begins to cry as he scratches the cat behind the ears. 

“Benedick.”

The cat yawns in his face and Segundus laughs through his tears. 

He is just in time to see the last wobble of the mirror settling again. This time, he is not saddened by the little death, by the visible chill of the glass as it goes back to normal. Somehow, this is his and Farah’s way. Warmth and a moment of content, the cat’s damp nose pressed against his face, lull Segundus quickly to sleep as he watches it. 

In the darkness of sleep, he feels the other Segundus clawing his way toward some sort of communication, but it is as though a wall separates them and they sit on either side. 

He wakes shivering to the door in his room opening. 

 

They were at an impasse. 

John Childermass no more believed Todd’s claim of having a time machine than Todd believed his of being a magician. Surprisingly, the matter of a double living a few hundred years and possibly a reality away had not been argued, which Childermass had thought the far more interesting of his two claims. 

Childermass made tea and the two men sat together on his sofa, eyeing each other suspiciously, the room silent for long stretches.

“So, what can you do with your magic?” asked Todd. 

“Make myself a shadow. I'm just really tired at the moment, so I won’t.”

“Like, make a shadow for yourself? Can't you do that by, you know, standing in the sun?”

“No, I- Forget it.”

He stood, leaving his tea on the table and stomped to his bedroom, where he retrieved the basin, still on its side, from the floor. He then stomped to the kitchen, where he filled it. 

“What are you doing?” asked Todd. “Are you making more tea? I really don’t want any more tea.”

“I am doing some magic.”

Childermass did not have the energy for this, he knew, but he would do it. He plopped the basin onto the coffee table, splashing water on Todd’s feet, not apologizing. He then quartered the surface and glowered down at it, drawing all the magic he could as he muttered his own name. From the corner of his eye, Childermass saw Todd’s mouth drop open and his body tilted back a little, giving himself cautious space from Childermass. 

“Are you okay?”

Childermass did not answer. He focused on the ends of his fingers, the tips of his nose, drawing all his magic forward, pulling it and then slinging it at the basin. Sweat dripped down the back of his neck and he trembled. John Childermass. John Childermass. Again and again, under his breath, biting his lip until it pained him and he split the delicate skin with his tooth and tasted blood. 

His other self appeared. 

It took Todd a moment to figure out what had happened, that he was not looking at Childermass’ reflection in the water any more, and when he did, he jumped to his feet. Childermass was smug in the knowledge that he had managed to impress. This, however, did not last long. 

“You again,” said the other Childermass. A pipe dangled from his mouth, slurring his speech. “And always with some strange person with you.”

“How is John?” asked Childermass.

The quiet grated. Smoke rose toward the water from the pipe. 

“He lives. How is John?”

“He is gone,” said Childermass. 

“There are too many Johns,” said Todd frantically. “What's going on?”

The other Childermass turned his dark eyes toward Todd.

“He is annoying. Don't let him talk any more, please.”

Childermass looked toward Todd now as well. 

“Agreed.”

The other Childermass huffed smoke as he laughed a tired, hollow laugh. 

“We meet on one or two things, don’t we, sir?” said John Childermass from under the water. He coughed and his brow knotted. “I have read the cards. I know, I think, where John and Farah Black are being kept. They are in a kingdom in fairy.”

“What?” asked Todd. He leaned in toward the basin.

“I said no talking,” said the two John Childermass together, though one of them was relieved that he had not had to ask the question Todd posed. Todd was quiet.

“The only problem is,” continued the other Childermass, “knowing which one. Fairy kingdom are as you know, nearly innumerable.”

The small barb was not lost on Childermass. 

“As I know.”

“And bad news. I think we’re running out of time. I fear to drop the spell on John lest he be taken like your John and lost to us, but I fear even more not dropping it. There is something wrong. The magic has soured.”

Now the two John Childermass shared a vision and Childermass saw his other self sitting through the night with John, then curled against him as the darkest hours came. He tried a cup of tea at John’s chapped lips. He felt the hot brick at their feet cool, John’s body damp with sweat. John’s breath was faint, his magic more so. Childermass savored, as he was allowed in the vision, the connecting of the other Childermass’ magic with his John, unsure that the wholeness of magic with John Segundus was a thing he would ever know again. Then, he was himself. 

Childermass tumbled from the vision, panting. Blood from his lip dropped into the water. When he looked down, he saw that it had stained his shoes as well, three drops on his left foot.

“No!”

“We must act quickly,” said the other Childermass. 

Childermass turned to look at Todd. 

“I'll be there as soon as I can. Together-”

At that, his magic gave out and he fell to the floor. He knocked the table as he went down and water cascaded onto his carpet when the basin again tipped to its side. 

“Shit,” said Todd. 

And Childermass’ phone, sitting on the couch, rang. He picked his face up from the floor to glare at Todd. The carpet was bloody where his face had landed.

“Will you do something useful and answer that, please?”

Dazed, eyes large and hands shaking slightly, Todd reached for the phone and pushed the button to answer the call. Childermass let his face rest against the floor again and wavered out of consciousness. 

“Hey. Hey, John? That was someone named August. He wants to know if you can come get him?”

 

Segundus cringes as the door opens. Sleeping did not prepare him for Solomon’s return and the near connection with his other self, the loss of it, has shaken him. He does not want to do this. 

Benedick sleeps on his chest and lets out a howl of protest as Segundus turns in the bed. 

“Farah.”

She slips into the room and closes the door softly behind her. A second too late, Segundus pulls the covers over his lower half, blushing. 

“He gave you a cat?” 

“No,” says Segundus. He gives Benedick, indignantly washing himself, a pat on the head. “He’s mine. Sort of.” 

Morning in the fairy kingdom carries a chill. The sunlight that shines in through the window is nearly right, but has too much red in it, so the sunrise casts a rusty glow over the room. The odd vines with the over-glossy, over-heavy fruit twist toward the sun, moving like arms and frightening Segundus with their humanness, with their rustle like chattering teeth.

Farah approaches the bed. She does not wear a dress today, nor a crown, but a pair of soft, deep green breeches and a flowing shirt. It looks a little like, thinks Segundus, a high end outfit from any number of shops. But for the rusty sunrise and the chattering vines, they might be home.

“You didn’t look well last night,” she says. 

“I’m…” 

“What have you done?” she asks. “You did something, I can tell. And something dumb.” 

Benedick walks up to Segundus, pressing his forehead against Segundus, nearly bringing him back to tears. The cat trails magic wherever he goes, magic Segundus recognizes as his own, or his other self, and the other John’s and a different sort, a magic without thoughts or direction. 

“Turn around,” Segundus whispers. “Let me dress and I’ll tell you.” 

Farah turns from him and Segundus retrieves the wrinkled clothes from the floor, though putting them on again is the last thing he wants. He sits cross legged on the bed when he's dressed again and Benedick crawls into his lap. 

“I’m ready.” 

Farah turns and she walks to sit next to him on the bed. 

“I…” says Segundus. “I offered myself to him. To keep him from you.”

Farah groans and closes her eyes briefly. 

“Shit. Really? John, why do you think I married him? When we got here, you were passed out and he was fawning over you as he changed your clothes, talking about breaking some magic spells or something weird. It was terrible to watch. I told him he could marry me instead. You looked too weak to handle all of this.” 

They are quiet after that. Farah reaches over and pats his hand. 

“I appreciate it. It was dumb, but I appreciate it.”

“Same,” says Segundus.

Neither speak after. The rattle of the vines makes Segundus shiver. He realizes how empty the morning is of any sound other than this. No birds, no voices, no new leaves in the wind. It's graveyard of a spring morning. 

“I want to go home,” says Segundus, and he pulls the cat to him. 

“Me too. But in the meantime-”

There is a noise in the hall, the click of boots and the echo of one of Solomon’s songs, and Benedick jumps under the bed. 

“You should go,” says Segundus. “I'll be okay.”

Farah gives him an incredulous, tired look before leaving as quietly as she came. 

 

The pieces to Todd’s time machine were in a duffle bag at the foot of his bed in a small and not overly clean hotel room.

“This is it?” asked Childermass. He sat on the end of his bed watching Todd assemble the device atop the floral duvet. 

“What were you expecting?”

“Don't know.”

His heart raced. He reached out to touch it; an old thing and metal. There was no magic here, not like his cards or basin or the things at Norrell’s. This was solely terrestrial, solely human. This could bring him there. He might save one John Segundus if he's lucky. Todd swatted him away as he attempted to investigate a button. 

“Just so you know,” said Todd, “this might not work.”

“You tell me that now?”

“Hey, you're the one who’s been talking alternate existences. I never promised universe hopping, even in the best case scenario.”

The bathroom door opened and August, red eyed, came out putting his glasses back on. 

“Alright?” asked Childermass. He did not at first take his eye off Todd and the machine, but looked in time to see August nod. 

 

“Thanks again.” 

A paper cup of tepid tea from the hotel lobby set on the desk and August took it before moving into the vacant space at the foot of the bed next to Childermass. Childermass had already been thanked a dozen or so times since arriving at the restaurant to collect August from his date and he squirmed a little under the weight of another. At first his responses to August’s gratitude were monosyllables and now were barely noises of acknowledgment. Thankfully at least, August was so distraught over whatever had happened that he did not feel like talking about it and had been quiet, smoking and crying. 

“That’s it,” said Todd. “Done.”

“I need to go to 1821. Today’s date in 1821, I think.”

August sipped at his tea and his shoulders slumped. 

“My life has gotten so weird in the last few days,” he sighed. 

Todd continued to work with the machine until suddenly there were noise and lights. He jumped back in surprise then hurled himself back toward it. 

“Wait!” called Todd. He did not quite reach the bed where August and Childermass sat. 

Cold and black. He did not exist. And then, he did, and he was lying on a wooden floor looking at the shoes of his other self. August Black lay beside him. His glasses lenses were shattered on the floor around him.

“It's...you,” said the other Childermass. 

“Me,” said Childermass.

With great effort Childermass stood, pulling himself up with the bedpost. He watched August flutter his eyes open, groan, and scream. 

“Quiet,” said the other Childermas. He jumped from the bed and August covered his face, screaming more and backing away. 

“August,” hissed Childermass. “You’ve got to be quiet-” 

There was a knock at the door. 

“Mr Childermass? Mr Segundus?” 

August’s screaming stopped. The gray Childermass put a finger to his lips. 

“I am still with Mr Segundus, Charles. He is not well enough for me to leave him yet. He had a very bad dream. It’s the fever, you see. Nothing to worry about. Thank you.” 

“The students have woken, sir. And the maids as well. They’re terribly scared.” 

The other John Childermass glared at his guests. 

“I will come to settle the house. Thank you, Charles. Back to bed.” 

The retreat of footsteps. Doors closed in the hall. Childermass helped August up and propped him against the bed. 

“Who is this?” asked the other Childermass. August flinched as though being addressed was akin to a blow.

“My name is August. Please, where are we?” 

“Starecross. It is a school. I live here with this man in the bed, John Segundus. My name is John Childermass, though whether that makes you feel better or worse, I don’t know.”

Childermass took August’s hand and August calmed as he was led to a vacant chair. 

“Can you see?” asked Childermass.

August shook his head. 

“Sit here for a moment. Don't be afraid. Everything is fine.”

The claim was absurd, but August sat and was quiet. Childermass stood for a moment watching John, dressed so respectfully in a long, sweat soaked nightgown. He was too thin, too small. 

“We have magic to do,” said Childermass. 

His other self grunted, throwing a log onto the fire. 

“Be calm. I am in as much of a hurry as you to see John well, but this must not be rushed. We cannot throw good magic after bad. I will bring food and drinks and for a moment, we will sit and think and calm your friend. But first, I will see to the school.” 

He crossed the room and left both men turned toward the bed, watching the rise and fall of John Segundus’ chest. 

 

An hour later, the room was scattered with dishes from where Childermass’ other self had fed them. An army of candles had been lit. There was an open bottle of red wine and on the bed, several open books of magic. One of them John Segundus had written. It sat near its author’s bare, white feet. The book had been no use on their mission, but Childermass had insisted on seeing it when he found out it existed. August sat in a chair, silent, staring at the John Segundus lying on the bed. The two John Childermass stood together at the foot. The room sweltered with the heat of the fire and was faintly hazy with pipe smoke. 

“Now,” said Childermass. “We've waited long enough.”

“John,” whispered August.

John Childermass put his palm against that of John Childermass. He knew his older self’s magic instinctively and it began with ease. It was like pulling stitches, undoing this spell. His knees wobbled and sweat poured down his back as they worked. 

The magic had a taste like burned coffee as it strengthened and it had a lively thud, like the pulse of a racing heart. 

They worked together and soon the magic started to fray quickly as they yanked it apart, producing colors behind Childermass’ eyes. He experienced them as the other Childermass experienced them too. 

The magic burst with its unraveling. For a moment, the world was white and still. 

Well done, sir, the other Childermass thought. And he heard it. 

Childermass opened his eyes. August was curled in the chair in fright and John; John was stirring. His chest heaved and he coughed and was awake. 

Three men said his name at the same time. 

John Segundus’ eyes found those of his Childermass and he smiled and called “John,” for himself now. Childermass watched his other, older self crawl across the bed, take John Segundus into his arms and kiss him.

There was joy in the room for a moment and then again, John Childermass’ magic and that of his other self grew vicious as they mixed with a sudden foul spell hanging in the air and turned toward August. Both John Childermass felt it at the same time and their stomach’s heaved together. The magics called to them together once. Help. No. 

There was little struggle this time. With great force, it wrapped it around him and before any of the three other men could utter a sound, his life had been drained from him. The magic gave a final, pained shriek and the body slid to the floor. 

 

The sun rose. The three men named John sat with still form of what had once been August Black. Childermass sat by the fire, on the floor, and Segundus and the other Childermass sat together on the bed.

Together, the three men had managed a spell of protection over the room that kept them in peace from the house and the fairy the older Childermass feared coming for Segundus.

“Who was he?” asked Segundus.

“A lawyer. A friend. You...in the other place, you loved him. Before we met, John was going to marry him.”

“Oh.”

The fire had not been tended and it gave off dying hisses. 

“He was nice. I didn't know him, really.”

Segundus took the hand of his Childermass. 

“What happened with the magic, John? You and he are both good. Your magic is good. Why would it hurt this man?”

“It tried it before,” said both Childermass together. John Segundus shook his gray head.

“Something is wrong,” said the older Childermass again. “The magic is wrong.”

Segundus put his head on the shoulder of the other Childermass and cried. Childermass watched, envious beyond beyond belief as the other Childermass stroked the back of Segundus’ neck, and more exhausted than he thought he could be. 

“We will ask Charles’ help,” said the other Childermass. “And the other servants who know.”

“Know?” asked Childermass. 

“Know about us. We do not share your luxuries.”

The room feel to the sounds of the fire. 

“We will give him a peaceful spot to rest,” said the older Childermass. 

“It is not his home,” said his younger self. His head sank into his hands and he could not savor even the feel of having his magic mixed with this Segundus. He was near to broken and anyway, there was subtle difference in the magic of John Segundus the professor and John Segundus the doctor. 

“John ."

The sound of his own name in his own voice settled ill on Childermass’ stomach. He knew his other self was not speaking to the man curled against him, the man who shared their name, but to him. He looked up.

“We will see to the safety of your friend. You must go for the John still in danger. I will show you.”

“I thought you didn't know which kingdom he was in.”

John lifted his head from the other Childermass’ shoulder. 

“He doesn't. But I do. Your John has been very brave. He is with a minor fairy king named Solomon Violet. His home is called Shadow Garden. That John did not tell me. It was a lucky bit of reading, years ago.”

“John Segundus will always be John Segundus,” said Childermass with a smile.”

Childermass stood from his chair and the other Childermass stood from the bed. 

“To Shadow Garden,” said Childermass. And he followed himself to the mirror on the other side room. 

 

The door opens and John Childermass steps in. It is his John, smoking, wearing the blue hooded sweatshirt from the night of Hannah’s birthday. His hair is down. 

“Love,” he says. 

Segundus wants it to be so, wants it so much that his heart goes wild at the sight of him, at the sound of the voice, but he knows it isn't John. 

Segundus opens his mouth to tell the apparition to show his true form, when he speaks. 

“He is here.”

The magic drops and Solomon Violet stands before Segundus. His face is a almost frightened pale, but his eyes are lit with anger. 

“How?”

“It’s just me,” says Segundus. “There’s no one else here.”

Solomon Violet turns around, scanning the room. 

“His magic is everywhere.”

Segundus stands. He takes a step toward the fairy and it's then his vision fills with his other life. His eyes open and he sees the large, cold room. Sweat is pooled in the creases of his knees and elbows. John is there, his John and the other. And the other Segundus kisses his John and Segundus knows it. 

Solomon Violet grabs his hand and Segundus is returned. The sight of his John in that other place makes Segundus gasp his name as he comes to.

The fairy stands angry in front of him. 

“I will have him,” says Solomon. “I will have his magic.”

A red magic (Segundus cannot see it, but knows it is red) travels from Solomon in an endless stream.


End file.
